Watching a belly dancer in a Greek restaurant dancing around in ways I'm sure would bring serious injury to my body, I realized with certainty that I will never be able to do that. 

I'm having a hard time wrapping myself around the fact two of the grandsons will be in kindergarten in the fall. Mom always said time goes by faster as you age and apparently she was right. It just doesn't seem that long ago when the girls were making tents in the front room pretending to be adults in their own homes. Now they’re sending their boys off to kindergarten.

Back to the Greek restaurant before I get all teary eyed and can't finish this column.

Everyone has a trick of sorts they show off to friends and family. Some have the knack of turning their eyelids inside out, while others make their tongues flip sideways. I bet you're sitting on the edge of your seat, anxious to find out what special trick I possess.

It's what the belly dancer does. No, not the dancing, and definitely not the stomach movements, although mine can do a dance of its own, much like that of a Jell-O-Jiggler. The clickety-clack of the cymbals tied onto the belly dancer's fingers is my trick, except I don't need them to be strapped on. Apparently I have sticky fingers.

Placing two coins together, holding them with just my index finger and thumb, I can click them together constantly, without letting them fall. It's the only talent I have, although it hasn’t come in handy at any time in my life.

True artistic abilities started with my grandma and then continued onto mom and then began again with my sister. Apparently the talent gene ran out by the time I was born. Grandma could paint anything, whether on canvas or plaster and with either hand. She was ambidextrous and said it was because her teachers wouldn't let her be left-handed when she was in school. Mom followed suit with being able to paint anything and although my sister doesn't paint, she can sew.

A couple years ago, my sister and I made each other gifts for Christmas. I made her a hodgepodge scrapbook that looked like a first-grade project. She made me an awesome shirt and jacket that looked like it was purchased from a department store.

Unfortunately, the artistic gene didn't skip a generation so one of my daughters could claim to be a painter. They both make up for it by being the most beautiful and intelligent women I know. Sure I'm biased, but that's what moms do.

I'm retiring the coin trick as recently I’m trying to learn something new. It's called trying to get up off of the floor.

Sandy Turner is a GateHouse Media columnist.