Random Thoughts

Well, it’s rolled around again.   It’s THAT DAY, you know, the one where I remind you how lucky you are if your mom is still alive. Look – I do not want to make you feel guilty.   Seriously I don’t.   But if we are being honest here I will admit that you having a living mom makes me a bit (more than a bit…) jealous.   I know times are tough for everyone right now.   If your mom is in a nursing home you can’t get in to visit her.   If your mom lives in another state you can’t fly to see her.   Heck, even if your mom lives right across town you can’t give her a proper hug (at least you shouldn’t!).   It sucks. But do you know what sucks worse??   When your mom is dead.   When you know that there is no “end to the distance”.   When the only time you can see your mom is in dreams and that is very rare and when you wake-up she is still dead.   It is like social distancing forever.   How does that sound? My ...

Don’t.   Say.   It.   It’s the 2 nd Sunday of May.   That’s the day women with no children and dead mothers consciously or unconsciously stay home.   We organize closets.   We cook.   We watch movies.   Anything to stay out of the public eye – to avoid the inevitable, the “Happy Mother’s Day!” greeting delivered with a smile. I thought I was safe this year.   I went no further than my own front porch.   I was working on some potted plants.   Then a woman walked by.   I smiled at her, as I smile at everyone who walks by.   Then she said it .   And in that moment, I was faced with the odd dilemma of what to say to her in return.   Instinctively, I did what my own mother taught me when I was young and responded in kind, “Happy Mother’s Day to you, too”.   But it wasn’t sincere.   I was angry that it came out of my mouth.   And it started me thinking. WHY do people say “Happy Mother’s D...

These roses are my mom. Summer 2014 - roses and bees Not my actual, real life mother, of course.   But they are part of her.   They are, in my mind, a living breathing reminder that she spent time on this earth.   That she smiled.   That she loved me.   And that she is gone. They were her roses – one of several bushes planted in my parents’ back yard in Omaha.  My dad was taking them out around 12 years ago and I carefully lugged one from Nebraska to Virginia, in the hopes that it would survive and I could plant it.  It worked.  And now, each spring it blossoms.  This year's blooms It doesn’t make the prettiest flowers – they are a bit scrawny and don’t have many leaves.   The roses do not have a scent, which always disappoints me.   Then stems are short so they are hard to cut and bring indoors.   And the they have some very wicked thorns – I have been cut by them many times.   But for all of th...