The Taste of Toes and Dropped Batons

I somehow keep finding my foot in my mouth and it doesn't seem to make much difference whether I actually say something or neglect to. With all the excitement and activity, I forgot, or should I say "everybody forgot," to call my Aunt Margie and tell her about the baby. She appeared rather hurt this evening when she found out three days past the grand event. Unfortunately, this is the second family happening she has been left out of in the past couple of weeks.

The "passing of the baton" has all kinds of repercussions as no one is absolutely certain exactly which baton they are holding. It seems I am responsible for several and I hardly knew how to juggle those I was holding just a few years back. I've dropped a baton or two lately and been conked in the head with a few others. (I'm not entirely sure who threw them...)

In spite of dropped batons and the taste of toes, I am having a wonderful time with my favorite mother in law. She brings an excitement and exuberance often lacking in our days and reminds me that growing older doesn't necessarily mean a rocking chair on the back porch and crossword puzzles. She is never without one of her cameras, continually capturing the world around her and those she loves. The house will be terribly quiet when she is gone next week.