A Lasting Legacy
I am at the age where I occasionally think about the end.
Inevitably, I think about how I want to be remembered.
Realistically, I understand that people will most vividly remember those last years;
So how to make those memorable?
There must be a word out there that describes the type
Of older woman I aspire to be.
The type whose grown son says,
“Mom, stop flirting with the waiter, he’s my age.”
To which I’ll reply, “But he started it.”
The type who travels the world, on her own self-guided tour
And ends up assisting in the building a school for girls in some remote village.
I ask four friends, each of whom gives me a different word.
“Plucky,” says the first. I hang up the phone and
Walk into the kitchen to retrieve the wine from the fridge.
No, I decide. It sounds too much like a puppy rescued from
A life on the streets.
“Spunky,” reads the message on my phone.
Oh no! I can’t even think of anything spunk related
Without giggling like a teenager.
A third friend offers up “perky”.
I contemplate it until I step out of the shower
And duly note that my figure has moved from
Star gazing to navel gazing.
Finally, my dearest friend suggests “moxie.”
Images of matinis, jazz bands and enticing hemlines
Swirl in front of my eyes.
Late nights filled fine meals eaten in front of fireplaces, chatting
With clever people.
Skateboarding with the grandkids before a bedtime snack
Of chocolate cake.
When that day does come, please be sure the epitaph reads
“Sister, she had moxie.”
