My Own Mother

What can one do when one cannot see one's own mother? At least, when I cannot see my own mother. I think of her, I long for her, I even call her on the telephone, but I cannot actually be there and see.

I repeat myself when I say that everyone should have a mother as good, as beautiful, and as considerate+smart as our mother is. Then perhaps they would not be so crabby and cause an international turmoil such as we see daily in the daily News. But the SconeLady's mother is superior, and I feel certain that no child of hers would ever dream of causing an international turmoil. 

What a complete doll.

We knew it was bittersweet when we drove away from that sweet woodland town: bitter for what we left, and sweet for what we were heading toward. The obvious rewards are already numerous, with three little ones buzzing around us and squiggling up into our laps. 

Late 60s, early 70s

In the photo below you can see our mother, walking down the hallway to her/their apartment just after we said goodbye. Her husband, in hospice, is away from her just now, and so am I (and other sisters too, who are SoCal-ians along with me). 



But I am happy that we have the technology to formulate an email, and have it to each other in mere seconds - in fact, in one mere second. To have cell phones that can reach across the miles via FaceTime, whereby we can 'see' each other in a strange new way. 

If your mother is miles away from you, my dear Readers, call her! Write her! Give her all the hugs you can, and no skimping!

And, mom? I love you. May that long, green hallway swiftly shorten, with the two of us once more standing in it together.


See you along the way!
the SconeLady