Last summer my Mama wanted badly to go to Peach Park up the road about 45 minutes for nothing but a big bowl of homemade peach ice cream. Every time she and I would agree on a date, something would thwart our plans, and we never made it.
I've thought about this so often since her death in October. I especially thought about it yesterday when I told my sister that it is so much worse to regret something you did not do than the things you DID do.
So today, Henry and I loaded our granddaughter up in the pickup truck and set out up the road.
We're on our way home as I type this. The Eagles are playing on the stereo, Henry's wearing one of his ridiculous Hawaiian print shirts, and Rosemary is chirruping out another reading of The Very Quiet Cricket from her perch in the back seat.
This one was for you, Mama. And for us.
Life is sweet.