Meeting my mother at the cafeteria, our lunch together this week. She gets around well for her age. Food tray in hand, I follow as she searches for the right table. One by a window would be nice. She settles for a table that is not by a window, but is as far from a boisterous party as she can get. Mom talks, I listen. I talk, she thinks, but that's okay. I am just glad I still have her to talk with for now. We never have enough time with our parents.