It’s official… I am my Mother’s daughter.
I opened my billfold* today to discover an ample supply of toothpicks. Flashback to Mom’s sweet, if not sometimes a bit mangled and torn, stash; always ready for that pesky bit.
I used to be a little disgusted by her hording, and you may be too by my sharing of this discovery in my purse. But I wonder: are you too finding reminders of your parent’s particular quirks sneaking into your own habits, speech, mannerisms?
Some things float from generation to generation; others – not so much. Today this glimpse of Mom was a fun reminder that I am my parent’s child. And today that’s a good thing.
*There is an ongoing discussion in this household as to who has the wallet and who carries the billfold. Just another example of across-the-creek (or is that “crick”) upbringing.
The time is nearing. 
The rest of the story is that I did. And walk, and draw, and read, and write, and pray and eat. Oh I ate!
There’s nothing like walking up 218 steps, to 1,182′ elevation, to get the blood flowing. As I huffed and puffed and looked around from way up there (I know, I know – not much of an impressive elevation outside of Texas), I said some prayers for a few folks who I know are struggling. After all, it is called Prayer Mountain (as well as Mount Baldy).
Hillscapes. Sun. Tea. Books. Birdsongs. And a new location – on the other side of the hill. Quiet. It takes a little time to unwind. I forget that when planning a trip. And sometimes it takes changing our minds and changing our location as we did last night. It was a good move.
I’m not settled. I could maybe relax if I knew I didn’t have to go somewhere and do what people would do when here – hike, explore, be active in nature. But I just sit.