This is the giant digital clock my brother gave Mom several years ago. She monitors it very closely, often calling out the hour, for no reason other than she wants to help everyone keep track of what time it is. I guess. I really don’t know why she does it.

After her morning coffee, she goes back to the couch for a few minutes, sitting there until 7:00 am before getting dressed to go to the center. Sometimes she falls asleep, and I have to watch my own clock in the studio to make sure I hear her going to her room at that time.

Lately, whenever I’ve checked with her at 7:00, she’s told me, “I’ll get ready in a couple of minutes.” And she literally means two minutes, getting up from the couch at 7:02. This morning, I check on her to find her eyes closed, dozing a little bit.


I touch her arm. She opens her eyes.

“Mom, it’s time to get ready.”

She looks at me and then at the clock, which reads 7:03.

“I will. I’m just waiting one more minute.”


“I’m just waiting until 7:04.”


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