You take life in gulps! You eat too fast. You’re going in six directions.
Words of my mom. To me. All my life and hers when she was still living.
Was this the observation of a wiser, slower generation? Or a wiser, less frantic woman? I think the latter.
Growing up, her sisters said, she was the last to finish a meal. When I was growing up, she was still the last. Ultimately, in the independent living dining room, she was still the last.
“I’m just a slow eater,” she would say. “Go on if you have to.”
But no one ever did. They sat. They told her their stories. She listened and chewed. They waited.
Although she regularly apologized for the delay, I can’t remember anyone complaining. She wasn’t a dawdler. She was a savorer and a listener. Someone easy to sit with. Someone who took it all in.
Looking back, I have to admit she was right about the gulping. It’s an excellent habit to break. Not that I have. But I’m working on getting the six directions – whatever they were – down to five.
Mom would be proud.
