Mom! It’s graffiti! It’s art... on a shoe ! I have to try it on. Please...can I? It was my 12 year old’s first foray into heels. A big moment in our little lives. Working full-time when she was an infant had stolen other big-little moments from my camera’s eye -- the first time she rolled over, the first time she sat up unassisted...the first firsts. Newly, gladly and willfully unemployed for the first time in 15 years, I took a picture. The picture wasn’t as much of an attempt to catch up on lost firsts, but rather a net to capture a butterfly’s moment of the moment; because if history skips a generation and the math holds out, there are more years behind me than ahead. My mom died at 63. Her mom died at 47. I’m 46. I’ve checked all over my person for a stamped expiration date, from the flabby inside parts of my arms, to the backs of my knees and other parts of my anatomy that shall remain nameless here. There is no such date. Yet, there is a possibil
Finding out everyday that sometimes, late is right on time.