Mom

She read Playboy. Dreamed up crazy themed birthday parties for my little brother and me. Wrote short stories and novel outlines. Dealt with a Swedish mother in law who couldn't see her value. Didn't cook that well but would do foods of different cultures sometimes to "broaden our horizons". Became a Cub Scout den mother because we wanted to be in scouting even though I suspect she never cared for kids that much other than her own. Quelled the usual internecine warfare between her children once it became the norm. Read to me every night.

Most of all, she gave up a pretty sophisticated life, for good, to move to the northern woods and be my mother.

One of my earliest memories is seeing her standing in the living room of our tiny home, sobbing, when we lost JFK.  I only think I saw her cry once after that. She's Irish too, you see.

Once in High School, a curmudgeonly teacher said he would let any one of us out early from class if we could just tell him where one song lyric came from.  The lyric was "I polished up the brass so carefully that now I am a member of the Queen's Navy".  My hand shot up. He smirked at me. I said "HMS Pinafore". He goggled and said "how the heck did YOU know that?"  Because my mom plays Broadway albums all winter, jerk.

I talked to her today even though she lives a long way away now. At 86, she is doing just fine, interested in everything, never met a stranger.

I told her I love her and that the "broadening horizons" thing, that worked out pretty well.

I love you, Mom.