A million years ago, when I was in Brownies, there was a ceremony in which we "flew up" to become Girl Scouts. It was my first inkling that ceremonies were human constructs, and (to my mind) therefore suspect, although not altogether bogus.
Last night, a dear friend's mother died, and my friend became, as I did some years ago, the matriarch of her family. She "flew up". And it's not a piffling thing to be the ranking woman in the family.
Not having been endowed with much in the way of "gravitas", I wear this mantle lightly. That's not to say I don't appreciate it. It just seems to me that taking it too seriously would disrespect the "office", and ill serve the daughters watching and wondering how we do this aging and dying routine.
Let's make it as much fun as we can, ok?
Things I think about - as jumbled and unrelated as the contents of my garden cart at the end of a nice long day outside: lots of weeds, an empty coffee cup, some prunings, an interesting looking plantlet and a few handy tools.
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