picture of George and John on a fishing trip.  Appearing as but a ghost in the picture, the realization came to Marion that that’s how she spent most of her life--in the background.  She  studied the numerous pictures lining the wall and  realized that she was conspicuously absent from most of them and those that she was in she was either holding one of the children or displaying one of her famous batches of cookies.
“Milestones,” she said aloud as she scanned the wall looking at the plaques George had received for one achievement or another.
 “Milestones,” she thought as she searched in vain for a plaque of her own.
Without hesitation Marion went into her wardrobe and pulled out her new burgundy wool suit. John’s wife had sent it to her for Christmas since they were not going to be able to make it out this year.  “Well, what’s the harm if I wear it a few weeks early?” Marion rationalized.
As she slipped on the new beige silk blouse she had bought to compliment the outfit, she looked at herself in the full length mirror and looked herself straight in the eye.
“Today is your birthday, your sixty-five. Most people have had their spree and are ready to settle for a rocking chair and an afghan thrown over their knees. What have you done?” Marion asked pointedly.  
The mirror was strangely silent.