As a girl, she had anticipated the rare trips to the city. New school clothes, the windows of the big department store festive and rich at Christmas, the drawn-out savoring of a sweet treat before the long ride home: the excitement leading up to these trips had sent her careening about the house until stern parental voices contained her exuberance.

When she was a young woman, the promise of a date saw her carefully choosing clothes, applying lipstick, and arranging her hair. She had savored the picture of her slim form in a light summer dress, matching shoes and handbag, gloves, and a hat on the arm of that young man who had grown so handsome.

As she had grown older, looking forward to things had not been an unmixed delight. As a young wife, she had sat for what seemed like hours with a hand on her belly. Wondering at the power that brought movement under that formerly still surface, wanting to see those feet that kicked, fearing pain.

Young motherhood left little time for anticipation. The children, their needs, their schemes, and their creations, they all happened now. There was little time for fearing the future – even less for happy musing.

As the children grew up, her mind turned less and less often to thoughts of her own future pleasures. A husband’s promotion, a daughter’s dance, a son’s Air Force wings – these were the possibilities that consumed her thoughts. It now seems that things moved so quickly after that. Worry and fear and joy jumbled together as she awaited the son’s return from war, the daughter’s marriage, the grandchildren. Looking back, all of those events seemed to have happened on the same day.

Now, there was more behind her than in front of her. She had many memories and a few things yet to look forward to. Today she had dressed with the care of a girl: a light summer dress, matching shoes and handbag, gloves, and a hat. She smiled and accepted the proffered arm of that man who had grown so handsome.