Every once in a while, even a Pollyanna like me has a chilling moment.
When I was at the sink this morning, I noticed that my right hand was really trembling. That has happened if I've been gripping something or carrying a baby one-armed or if I'm really tired, but none of those things was going on at the time. Shaking didn't stop when I flapped my hand around and not when I held the right with my steady left.
I immediately got a memory of my mother in her last weeks, how her hands trembled and how she plucked at cloth as if to test her ability to manage them. My mother was 86 then, and had been lucid and strong for her whole life, and I knew that I was giving in to unwarranted morbid thoughts, but somehow knowing that didn't help.
I would be foolish, I guess, if I didn't, at my age, face my own mortality every once in a while, but I always imagine that happens when you read a sad book, or attend the funeral of a friend, not when you're getting ready to put toothpaste on your brush, after a nice sleep-in.
I was over it in no time, and after a while the shaking hand became its normal self. Pollyannalike, I bounced back and in fact am about to take my well-being in my hands by walking in the new, wet snow over to the market to buy some baking potatoes. Having a shallow personality has its upside.