I’ve had a few conversations with friends whose words really stuck with me. This morning, before you unload the dishwasher for the umpteenth time, take a moment to read their thoughts.
My walking friend let out this lament:
I remember the days when Thanksgiving meant, ‘Is someone going to put something in my mouth? Is someone going to make me a very special pie?’ I want to be the person waited on, not the person doing the waiting on. I miss those years and I want my mama back.