An Ode to Mom.... after an Ode to Plumbing



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And Ode to Plumbing, by Harriet J.

Ho, Ho, Ho,
The Water won't flow.
They've dug and replaced
but it won't take the waste.
They can't do no more
And now we are poor.
We'll wait for the city
And try to be witty,
To keep us from losing our reason.


As we age, which (sadly) I am finally realizing will happen to me too, I always hear we will become more and more like our mothers. At the age of 16, with veins full of liquid angst, I thought this would be a nightmare - getting older, getting gray hairs, wearing grown up clothes (as opposed to the pajamas I used to proudly parade around in. No, seriously, plaid pajamas.. in public! We've all got our moments I suppose...). But here's the truth to it all: I have gray hairs, 5 of them, and they are all starting to sprout out of the same spot my mom's first grays did. And I'm never going to dye them either, though I do wish they were as soft and supple as the other hairs... And aging isn't bad anyway - my mom, who in her youth had a vitality that could only be the cross between Twiggy and Audrey Hepburn, has aged with a grace I hope my own summers in the sun won't have jeopardized.

But here's the most telling revelation that I am becoming my mother: today for dinner, instead of riding my bike up to the grocery store for the pizza I had been craving, I salvaged the last bits off a mostly eaten chicken (because I didn't want to waste), reheated it with some fresh mozzarella, and ate it with a big green salad and an apple because I wanted to make sure I got my full servings of fruits and veggies today. I have become my mom - a person obsessed with my veggies, a hater of fat and grease, and a salvager of leftovers. And I like it.
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1 comments:

Harriet at: October 10, 2008 said...

Now all I need to teach you how to make really delicious stock out of those old chicken bones.
Mom

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