Tuesday, September 2


On Sunday afternoon my mother and I went to the beach. She just returned from London where my brother employed her as a babysit. One of the things she keeps telling me is how she would like to be seventeen again, and that she would move to London if she had the chance. Ever since death is in our faces her energy levels are up.
When I asked her what she wanted to drink she answered: “Sangria.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“You saw what happened to your grandmother,” she replied, “today is the day to live your life.”
So I ordered a jug of sangria, and some mineral water for myself.
After a few glasses she started to tell me about her plans for this year. Her plan is to rescue the orphans in Georgia, by sending them our worn down clothes. Their parents are alcoholics, she said, the children live their lives out on the streets. While walking back I had a flashback, the same thought I had when I was seventeen. What if my parents were normal, would I feel much better then?