Who Else Can I Still Be?

(Written to this week's prompt at Sunday Scribblings.)

I can still be the aunt my nieces turn to when the going gets tough.

I can still be the mom who always sang "I See the Moon" at bedtime.

I can still be a published essayist and poet.

I can still fly to Reykjavik on a whim someday.

I can still hone my craft as a storyteller.

I can still be an enthralled bystander at a sheepdog trial.

I can still attend the Battle of the Bands at the Georgia Dome.

I can still sing in another choir.

I can still be a tourguide for the Historical Society of Princeton.

I can still dream about time travel.

I can still grown my own corn-on-the-cob some summer.

I can still lose my eyesight, hearing, or mobility.

I can still take my boy to his first Broadway show.

I can still be a season ticket-holder to the theater series at McCarter.

I can still work in a library.

I can still get paid to speak in public.

I can still learn new folksongs.

I can still be a camp counselor.

I can still apprentice myself to a classic car fanatic and rehab some old clunker back to glory.

I can still run for office.

I can still get arrested for civil disobedience.

I can still live my gay life without benefit of legal protection ('cause I don't seem to have much choice in the matter).

I can still live to see a woman successfully run for President (not Hillary, though, I think).

I can still be a grandmother.

I can still watch my son navigate falling in love for the first time.

I can still learn a slew of new recipes.

I can still eat a piece of pizza without burning the roof of my mouth. Someday.

I can still thank my parents.

I can still pray.

I can still skinny-dip.

I can still be the friend who writes letters. The kind you mail. With stamps.

I can still learn to be a better listener.

I can still resist continuous partial attention.

Thank you for yours.