Glory Days

My 90-year-old mother was sitting across the table from me, enjoying her onion pizza while recounting her glory years.

"Rita, Janet, and Liz all belonged to different golf clubs. So, when I was down in Florida, I had three different courses I could play on. It was great."

My parents never owned a condo in Florida, but many of my mom's friends did. She opted to rent a place nearby for an extended winter getaway. Every January, she would pack up her car and head south, determined to get 12 hours of driving under her belt. She would spend the night in Ocala, so the last leg of the trip to Naples would be only about 4 hours the next morning.

My father was not a beach guy. On family vacations, he spent his time wrapped up under towels beneath the umbrella. He went to the beach because it made his wife (and children) happy. It's not surprising that he didn't spend much time in Florida during her winter break. He'd go down for a week or so, but not much more.

I've had a lot of lunches with my mom lately. Each and every time she tells me about the good times in Florida. There was golf, dinners out, beach time, and more golf. I can tell by the way she talks how much she misses those days. Those days when all of her friends were still alive, and her own body was without the issues she's been having the last few years. 

"That's the thing about the good ol' days, Mom. You don't realize you're in the midst of them until they've already passed."

"Ain't that the truth?" she smiled.