You married once. You converted to do that. Your sibling situation mirrored mine--youngest daughter with an older brother and sister. New York native. Lived all over after marrying Dad; Hawaii, North Carolina, Virginia, New York again, California, Illinois, Japan, Arizona. Got your Master's in Library Science when I was in high school (made me very proud). Drove a huge, multi-ton bookmobile and had lots of fun helping kids find books and bringing requests to far-flung patrons.
Were a mere slip of a thing; I doubt you were ever over 120 unless you were pregnant. Told me your best feature was your feet. Loved dance, all kinds, ballet especially. Learned to tap dance with Dad. Acted in community theatre productions and reveled in it. Read constantly, did the NY Times crosswords as well as acrostics, which make my brain hurt.
I used to tease that you were part crow because you so loved shiny things. Sparkly clothes, glittery jewelry. You loved to dress up. Did your own nails and I don't often recall seeing your toes unpolished. We were told not to speak to you in the morning until you'd had coffee and breakfast. (Smart advice) Once went to your dentist feigning an emergency and scared him to bits with fake fangs in place.
Cooked wonderful pot roasts. You often told me that Thanksgiving dinner was your favorite meal to cook; it took all day, but you loved eating it and having the leftovers. Other than that, I know you loved to eat out (Welcome Home Mom, what's for dinner?). Really enjoyed the SD apartment--decorating "The Hideaway". The wall of tiny mirrors--I love those.
I'll make more notes soon. Love you, miss you! XXOO
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
when did this happen?
When did I get old enough to have a teenager?
Not only that, but a teenager who wants to put colorful stripes in her hair? And asks for my help buying the hair coloring agent? And then asks for my advice on where to put it? And looks up at me with her melty, chocolate eyes and beauuuutiful fringy lashes and says, "I really want to know your advice. I trust you."
I won the lottery here. I adore her, Mom. I know you do, too.
Not only that, but a teenager who wants to put colorful stripes in her hair? And asks for my help buying the hair coloring agent? And then asks for my advice on where to put it? And looks up at me with her melty, chocolate eyes and beauuuutiful fringy lashes and says, "I really want to know your advice. I trust you."
I won the lottery here. I adore her, Mom. I know you do, too.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
2011
Hi Mom,
You left us a year ago yesterday. I don't like the way that sounds, it sort of implies that you went voluntarily, but I don't like the way "taken" or "died" sounds either. And while we "lost" you in some ways, that doesn't quite hit it either. It was a horrible day then, and I thought of you all day yesterday, but I was able to think of good things more than I expected to.
Last Christmas, you found such wonderful gifts for us. We're all still using them so much that it makes me really glad to have them; they're a link for me to you. I pulled out wrapping paper that we'd saved that has stickers on them with your writing. That makes me happy to have, too. I've always envied your penmanship. Lovely AND legible. I sign my name the same way you always have; first two initials and then last name. Brings you to mind each time I do, whether it's at work or signing a check. I like that connection.
I know that you're pleased that Dad is doing so well. He's traveling and continuing to be the social animal that he always has been. He's made a lady-friend in San Diego, and I know he's told you all about her, that she's kind and funny and reads the same books that you like. He took her to dine with Chuck and Muriel and they liked her, too. He misses you so much. I wish I could do more for him from here.
It was a nice, relaxed Christmas this year; I took off a whole week and really got to slow down and enjoy it. We had some snow which made things lovely, but not enough to cause any real problems getting around. Now we're back to rain; typical NW weather.
I miss hearing your voice on the phone. I miss your encouragement when I talk about work issues. I miss hearing you yell at Dad to turn the TV down when you get on the phone. I miss hearing all the redecorating plans for both houses. My mind's eye has you curled up on the couch, needlepointing away or working on acrostics or the NY Times crosswords. I have your Nintendo DS, and I love seeing your name in your writing each time I play with the Brain Age game. I wish that I'd kept your book list. I love you, Mom.
LYMY
XXXOOO
kt
You left us a year ago yesterday. I don't like the way that sounds, it sort of implies that you went voluntarily, but I don't like the way "taken" or "died" sounds either. And while we "lost" you in some ways, that doesn't quite hit it either. It was a horrible day then, and I thought of you all day yesterday, but I was able to think of good things more than I expected to.
Last Christmas, you found such wonderful gifts for us. We're all still using them so much that it makes me really glad to have them; they're a link for me to you. I pulled out wrapping paper that we'd saved that has stickers on them with your writing. That makes me happy to have, too. I've always envied your penmanship. Lovely AND legible. I sign my name the same way you always have; first two initials and then last name. Brings you to mind each time I do, whether it's at work or signing a check. I like that connection.
I know that you're pleased that Dad is doing so well. He's traveling and continuing to be the social animal that he always has been. He's made a lady-friend in San Diego, and I know he's told you all about her, that she's kind and funny and reads the same books that you like. He took her to dine with Chuck and Muriel and they liked her, too. He misses you so much. I wish I could do more for him from here.
It was a nice, relaxed Christmas this year; I took off a whole week and really got to slow down and enjoy it. We had some snow which made things lovely, but not enough to cause any real problems getting around. Now we're back to rain; typical NW weather.
I miss hearing your voice on the phone. I miss your encouragement when I talk about work issues. I miss hearing you yell at Dad to turn the TV down when you get on the phone. I miss hearing all the redecorating plans for both houses. My mind's eye has you curled up on the couch, needlepointing away or working on acrostics or the NY Times crosswords. I have your Nintendo DS, and I love seeing your name in your writing each time I play with the Brain Age game. I wish that I'd kept your book list. I love you, Mom.
LYMY
XXXOOO
kt
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