Blue Toenails

I value punctuality. Nevertheless, I’m a late romantic bloomer. I found a boyfriend at 54. He is now 63 . If we’re lucky, we might get 20 good healthy years. If we’re lucky.

It’s August. The start of another heat wave. I’ve lost count of how many there have been this year. I am trapped, yet again, inside my house with the AC on, losing time in the garden, losing time outside, losing the sounds that float in on open windows and doors.

Alzheimer’s is stealing my mother’s time. It also steals our time together. Just one day after I had sat with her at the salon, admiring her newly painted blue toes, she turned to me and asked, “Have you seen my blue toes?” I no longer get credit for my presence. Time erases it as if I were never there.

I’m battling time.

I’m battling time all the time. From the time I wake up, which is always too soon, to the time I go to bed, which is always too late, time is elusive, fleeting, too damn short.