Happy Mother’s day folks. It was relatively uneventful for us.. Mothers day.. , like fathers da,y is never a big deal around here. it was snowing (yes snowing) all day.. but not really cold enough to stick. We made crepes with fried bananas and ice cream.. then all headed out to Gabe’s lacrosse games in Colechester. two games out in the snow ..
We kept getting back in the car to warm up.. but the kids were freezing.. Pretty funny for may 9th. (I have to admit after vegas, dallas and new orleans.. the snow felt pretty good to me.. )
That’s about it for the day. Happy mother’s day to all of you !
nite folks, nite sam…
-me
ps. I know I included htis recently.. but I love this poem about family ties (mothers and layards) . from billy collins
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
