Sunday, late afternoon.
Mom’s day …
miss ya.
Miss helping you out with your Celiac group’s efforts – the website, the newsletter, the hopes & dreams of good design for totes and what not.
Miss walking from trinity ave to your apartment – how you loved that apartment.
Miss the phone calls – the checking in cause you heard there was weather (or earthquakes, or snow!). Letting me know it’s time to set my clocks ahead or back.
Miss being able to hopefully make you smile with an unexpected call, or a gift that struck me as just right. Or some crazy ass’d scheme to hide out in the trunk of your new Saturn. (and boy did you love that car)
Miss being able to sit with you and listen to you play the piano – you were really a very good pianist ma – hope I mentioned that to you.
Had a chat about “Music Box Dancer” – the tune I heard on ‘your’ radio station as it turns out back in ’79. I had the myth that the musician was an unknown, self-taught luckiest truck driver in the world!! Ha – well, the internet pegs Mr. Mills as a Canadian pianist. oh well – old times make better stories than modern truth.
Miss the smile in your voice when we connected … as I’m sure your friends also miss.
Love that blood’s given me a touchstone – hell, 2. One’s at work, eye level when I stand and do ‘work’.
Not to sure about the incredible marketing blitz to ‘don’t forget mom’ – yes, canvas people, I won’t. Nor will I paperless post. or ebags. Or staples (?!!) – I won’t forget my mom.
won’t stop missing her. won’t stop loving her. won’t stop quietly blaming her (at the same time thanking her) for the guy I turned out to be.
cause she’s my mom.
}S{ | dona nobis pacem |