Our current tablecloth is an impressionistic melange of harvest colors suggesting autumn leaves. As Mother is unable to count an impressionistic melange, she has taken to repeating counting rhymes from her childhood.
This morning, during coffee, counting along the fingers of each hand:
“One, two, three, four, five – I caught a hare alive. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten – I let him go again!” And then a big smile, pleased with herself for remembering, and also just happy to be alive and enjoying her morning coffee.
It made me smile, too. I am also happy to be alive and that we can enjoy our morning coffee together.
Shortly, I’ll be putting out the new Halloween tablecloth, and she will have something new to count at dinner.
Mom sometimes peers down the table to make sure that what is on her plate matches what is on our plates. She doesn’t want to miss out on anything, especially not anything food-related.
A few weeks ago, I noticed her looking back and forth, trying to see around the napkin holder and salt shaker and down the table. Since ‘We’ve got the exact same things on our plates as you have on your plate’ is too long and complicated a sentence to try without using the whiteboard, and it was across the kitchen, I made a point of noticing she was looking, and said, “What?”
“Nothing–I’m just counting rabbits. One-two-three-four. Five! Betcha didn’t know I could count that high!” And then she laughed.
Our Easter tablecloth is very busy (part of the reason for the new medication strategy I mentioned yesterday), and it is well past Easter, but I still see her counting rabbits at dinnertime. I guess it can stay on the table awhile longer.