I regret not appreciating my education while it lasted. (Especially considering how much I romanticize university life. Love those ivy league movies.) I regret not telling Amber to get away from Alan sooner. I reget not helping my mother quit smoking. I knew when she tucked her astrays in the drawer that she would not quit. If she really meant to stop the habit, why did she keep them at all? She put them away clean in our second junk drawer. It wasn’t the junky junk drawer either. They were tucked in with the neater junk. She was smart about it too. Her quitting came out of nowhere. She’d never indicated before that she wanted to stop smoking. She didn’t want to give her daughters the floor to nag her about it. She lasted a week without a cigarette. I should’ve said, “Mom, wean yourself. You’ve gone 2 days? Go light up on the patio. Then don’t have another for two days. Do some push-ups, for God’s sake. Go for a walk with me around the neighborhood. We’ll carry rocks to toss at stray dogs…”
Georgia is a writer who lives with her husband and three children in the East Bay in California.