Life in the '50's

I was not sure whether to look straight ahead at my destination or stare at the tray of food.  Boiled potatoes, chicken slices, and buttered corn slowly incorporated, looking a bit more like a stew or casserole.  The utensils clanged against the plate to an unfamiliar tune.  I kept telling myself I was getting closer to the delivery station and all would be fine.  These thoughts were interrupted with other thoughts of how, even though my mother thought of everything to include with their meal, they might still come up with something else they needed, or they might drop a utensil and call out to her as they often had for a replacement, and that this was going to be a way of life.  I tried to shun negative thoughts and looked ahead.  Along the path, not one of these lazy ingrates bothered to move their feet or the hassock.  My mother always worked around them.  This agitated me and I found this ludicrous.  I should not have allowed any thoughts to interrupt my flow of movement, because suddenly it happened.  His stein, oh my God, his stein!  An authentic German stein brought back from his mother’s country, began sliding off this portable flat tray with no grooves to support anything.  As I watched in horror, my life of nine years passing before me, the stein, with his favorite beverage, continued to slide further from me, and I told myself that I had “miles to go before I sleep…miles to go.”