Saturday, January 15, 2011


My phone rang yesterday around 2:50pm. My oldest son was on the other end of the line. I was finishing up some errands and he had just arrived home from school. He recounted a story to me about a visit he had with the neighbor when he got home from school. He had walked over to his home as he saw him shoveling the six inches of snow that fell and thought he may be able to help him. The neighbor declined the assistance as he was a few scoops away from being done, but engaged in some conversation with him. As a mother I felt proud that my son had been so thoughtful as to offer his assistance. When he was done telling me about their conversation, I said, "You know... there is this widow that actually lives at the same address you do. Perhaps you should consider giving her a hand. I know her driveway needs to be shoveled." There was a pause. "What? No. You don't count."

"What do you mean I don't count?"

"You can't keep calling yourself a widow."

"Why, he is still dead. I AM still a widow."


"Yes. And the widow would really like her driveway shoveled."

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