Flashbacks...

[alexpgp]

Galina and I went to a place called 'Amalfi' the other day for lunch, and while we were there, I borrowed what appeared to be the "duty" container of parmesan from a table occupied by a man somewhat younger than myself, sitting across from a woman old enough to be his mother.

We exchanged pleasantries as I seized the cheese, and as I turned to our table, I was struck by the situation at that table, which was not all that much different from the times my mother and I spent at similar tables over the years.

Except that'll never happen again, crossed my mind, and it was like a viscious slap across the face, and my throat tightened up.

Just sayin'...

Comments

[furzicle.livejournal.com]

There's a whole lot I could say about the new way in which I look upon aging now that my mother has died. I suppose it's actually a lot more realistic, but I can't help thinking instead that it is morbidly depressing. I now see every ache and twinge as creeping towards the grave. I have also recently observed that I see people these days as on a journey toward maturity whereas I used to see people as inhabiting a particular age. "He is young." She is middle-aged." Now it all seem like more of a process. It's like a train and we tend to enjoy riding the train with others who have been on about as long as we have. Those who got on more recently don't always have the same appreciation for things that we do.

[furzicle.livejournal.com]

But at the same time, it is often fun to sit with a younger crowd (or for that matter, an older one) and pick up on their unique point of view.