I keep wondering when I am going to run out of things to say.  And then some friend calls and asks me a question, or tells me something funny and off I go again.

Monday was Becky's birthday.  She said, "Mom!!  How do you know that you wore a red dress to the hospital the day I was born!!! I can't even remember what I wore yesterday."

I had written her a happy birthday note describing that day back in 1959--and that I had worn a red dress to the hospital.  "Well," I answered, "I have a picture of that day that your dad took.  We almost didn't make it in time.  The nurse put me in a wheel chair, rolled me into delivery, and it was all over.  They didn't even have time to get a table set up to put you on, so they laid you on my stomach.  And you lifted your head up, looked around the room,  and said, "That was interesting, what's next."  Which is the story of your life."  It was a red letter, red dress day.  "Look at that baby," the nurses called out.  "She is lifting her head."
 
I had five children. That is enough.  Between them, I have ten grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.  I can't remember how old any of them are.  I have to go back to the year they were born and count from there.  I can't even remember all of their birthdays.  I can't imagine how hard it would be if there were more of them.

And with every birth, there is a story.  We come into the world, we live, hopefully we accomplish something good, and then we are gone.  Life is so precious.  But so short.  I have no idea where my life has gone.  I don't remember what went right nearly as well as what went wrong--and looking back is sometimes funny.

I'm not done yet.