I had a mature moment today. In my estimation, anyway. A mature moment differs from a senior moment. A mature moment occurs when one decides to let go of being reactive, realize that anger is not the answer, and just smile sweetly and walk away.

Those that know me well, know that I have few of those, but as I age, and grow, I realize that my opinions, feelings, ideas and reactions are not always the most important and they become more frequent.

I brought my truck in for service today. I stayed at the dealership and waited for the hour. I ventured outside after a while and saw the bay that my truck was in and saw them finishing up. I was inside the waiting room when I looked out to see it in a parking spot and the particular mechanics who had worked on it were climbing into another car.

I walked out to the desk and the guy behind the counter looked through reams of paperwork to find my receipt. Apparently the mechanic hadn't dropped it off at the cashier yet. The guy behind the counter looked again as I explained my truck had been sitting in a parking spot for a few minutes.

A mechanic who was just hanging about, obviously not doing what he should have been doing (that would be mechaniking) says in a rather poorly constructed sentence and in an accent I'm not sure I recognized, "Lady, you shooor you gots the right car, ya know theres a lotsa cars out there."

I stopped for a second, only a split second, a barely discernable second went by in which I took a deep breath smiled sweetly and said, "Yes, I do know which one is mine," at which point I merely turned away.

Not too too long ago, his thoughtless remark and insult to my liberated femininity would have brought forth fire. No expletives would have been too severe, no amount of caustic remarks too base for him. It would have been more important for me to attempt to convince him with my large mouth and raucous manner that I in fact was not a bimbo. No I was not a dumb blonde, no I am not dumb because I am a woman. But of course I would have actually accomplished nothing. In hearing my verbal abuse he may have learned that women have big mouths and bad mouths. He would have learned that women can cuss as well as men, he wouldn't have listened to a word I had to say, and he would not have learned that women have brains, he would have learned that women can be as base as his cohorts and as ignorant as he himself. He also would have learned that he could get to me and the discourse would have gone on and one.

It was enough that the gentleman behind the counter looked at him with much disdain and said curtly, "I am sure she knows her own car."

So I chalk it up to ignorance, an ignorance which I will not, in my short time face to face with this man, change.

I saved myself some anger, and a huge and worthless argument and I saved myself a heck of a lot of time.

My car Jeeves.

It was a time when twins could be dressed alike without it being politically incorrect or psychologically damaging. It was a time when you sat on the stoop at night, in the summer, the air warm and sticky and electric, and neighbors yelled to one another, kids played. It seemed a time when all was right with the world. It was a time of course, when I was young.

Adrienne has been my friend since we both were 4 years old. We lived one house from each other and practically lived at one another's home. We were like sisters, I being the third as Adrienne is a twin. In speaking to her yesterday I was literally flooded with memories. Memories of younger days, kinder times, small people and lots of warmth.

Her Mom would buy them dresses. Dresses that were alike and sometimes she would buy me one too. Then we were like the three Musketeers...and we were. One for all all for one. Life was good.

Her Mom and Dad owned a store. A luncheonette. and sometimes we could actually go to the store and take our choice from the snow cone machine. It seemed so cool.

Adrienne and Lynne (her twin sister) would have a fight. Oh the sibling rivalry that existed between them. Her Dad would ask me could I sit between their rooms please as they would then be fighting over who was my friend. Oh gosh, the silliness. ;-)

I haven't actually seen her in lots of years. She lives now, in Washington state. I promise to come visit, I'd love to visit but the truth is I haven't had the courage to leave my dogs. Three years ago I went to a conference in Boston. Two days, three nights. Bogey developed colitis by the time I got home. I thought he was going to die and all because I had to get away. But I digress.

I miss her. When I talk to her on the phone, I just want to giggle like a schoolgirl. Like we used to giggle in secretive huddles and solve the problems of the world or at least how to get our parents to let us do something they didn't want us to do. I miss climbing roofs, and the playground. I miss "the Rock".

We had first kisses, first boyfriends, and even first husbands. Adrienne had a first child and then another. We've each lost a Dad. And yes, the years have gone by and although we saw each other a few times it was just a few in so many years. I've missed so much.

So if you're reading this "A", it was so great to talk to you. I'm so sorry I let so much time go by, but I know you understand now. I hope that I will get to see you soon..one of these days anyway, and until then you and your family are always right here in my heart. :-)

Some friends thought I was spending way too much time indoors yesterday. Yes it was beautiful here. We went to grab a bite to eat and spent most of the afternoon sitting by the river.

A lovely spot just several minutes from me. The river, shallow and running fast; it is clean and clear. Clear enough to see the small orange feet of the ducks paddling their way against the current. In pairs, the male with the iridescent plumage on the crown of head, the female a bit grayer, the babies with downy plumage not yet telling their gender.

Peaceful sounds of water lapping against rocks, running to unknown destinations out of site. It's a beautiful spot.

I can think of nothing better. My fantasy runs to a house, the spot across the river I have chosen. I would love to hear the sounds of the water as I fall asleep, hear it as I awaken, watch the suns reflection dancing on the small peaks as the current makes its way.

I was not blessed with this particular day off. Now I feel kind of mistaken not to have requested it as well but my time is limited and so, there will be no rivers today. But tomorrow, maybe........

You know, sometimes I forget that I can't see. Yes, I succumbed to my aged and changing eyes and purchased "reading glasses" but I rarely wear them for anything else.

I never look at myself in the mirror when I'm wearing them. I put on my makeup, look in the mirror sans eyeglasses and think ok...that looks good.

Well today, for some unknown reason I decided to look at my makeup WITH my glasses on.

Yikes! Suffice to say, I think I am going to start over. ;-(

The sound was barely audible. Perhaps a bird singing way off in the distance. Suddenly though it became louder and louder as if it was approaching me quickly. I placed my foot on the running board as I began to climb into the truck simultaneously turning as the sound grew louder. It was an instant. A flood of memories. A torrential downpour it seemed in one instant as a few tears crept to my eyes.

This flood of emotion was prompted by the gentleman entering his own car which was parked next to mine. I realized as I turned, that he was whistling. It was a beautiful melodic whistle complete with vibrato. My father used to whistle much like that.

It was in that moment and that flood of memories and my remembrance of my father's love of music and creativity that I also remembered he had once, long ago, written a song and had it recorded. Although it was never a hit, I cherished it.

I know exactly where it is. It hides in the now silent and very outmoded hi-fi system on top of which my mother's TV stands. I have a mission.

It's amazing where memories are, and where we find them.