“Well, now.”

That’s what my mother always said at the start of a declaration. Hands on her hips, distaste on her lips.  You knew you’d better listen up.

Then she’d elaborate. “Well, now,” she’d say, “I’ve seen it all!”

It might have been alarmum over a friend’s new hair-do, perhaps a comment she objected to, even an errant play at the bridge table.  Whatever it was, it was worthy of serious attention.

During the deeply saddening events of last Wednesday in Washington, The Mister and I invoked her words.  We had, really, nothing else to say.

There was a bit of a difference, however. My mother was always sure of herself. When she said she’d seen it all, she meant it. I, on the other hand, am not at all sure that we’ve seen it all.