Mother's Day

To be home for Mother's Day, to be invited to someone else's home.  "Your room is ready."  Such a room in a house with the liveliness of a large family, where space is at a premium.  I was tucked into a soft bed in a sunny room with a bay window where a cat slept soundly while sitting straight up as though keeping an eye on me.  Others came in from time to time to bring water and check on me during the days/nights I slept.   Such a lovely spontaneous expression of hospitality and generosity, so like its giver.  Thirty years and I still feel the peacefulness of that place, though I had forgotten the easy laughter and warmth of his voice, the humor, wit and spirit that characterizes him.

For Buck, the Beloved

5/4/15

This first post has to be a paean to my son, my beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful boy without whom I would not be.  Would Not Be.  Either physically perhaps, or certainly just a neurotic narcissistic garden variety substance-addled small town wife.  'Til There was You.    I wasn't "stuck" with this surprising little fetus due to moral or religious convictions,  I wasn't in love with his father, but that was the year Lou Ann Barton debuted, "I'm Old Enough To Get What I Want,"and, at 32 years of age, I identified.  Only one person,  Jeannette Wilkerson. single mother of two primary school age boys, leaned across my kitchen counter as we stood preparing food and asked,  "How do you really feel about being pregnant?"  Unschooled in the discipline of reflection, I was momentarily stalled for an answer, then I clasped my bump and explained as the tears spouted from my eyes, "It's like the worst love affair I ever had, but it just goes on and on."  And so it does for these three decades, and I hope to count a few more.  

• Only you know the perfect combination of carrot and stick for this recalcitrant old sexagenarian.  This blog has been here  FIVE years and I never touched it before day.  I have a thought that it owes its existence to you also.  Maybe you'll teach me tabs.