By Nancy Wade
The grocery store parking lot was a sea of white cars. Seems like I can never find mine since I bought that damn Honda with the platinum white pearl paint. I tried to look nonchalant pushing my cart through the slush and melting snow, hoping to locate the Honda. When a cold breeze whisked through me, I zipped up my coat. Should have worn boots. My feet were getting soaked. Ever since I hit my seventies, whenever I couldn’t find the stupid car, I figured that, like my mom, I was a step closer to the demise of my frazzled brain.
The idea of losing my mind made me sick to my stomach. Then I spotted my car and remembered that I’d intentionally parked on the other side of the lot. I’d been downtown and had come in from the north side instead of the usual south entrance. I headed home, relieved that the end was not quite as in sight as it seemed. And Mom didn’t have signs until well into her eighties—did she?[Read more…] about Not Yet