Mothers Day

We planned a trip to Lake Ritza today. A spectacular lake high in the mountains that is often photographed. However, it is raining cats and dogs and pigs and rats and goats and, at the moment, blundering bombastic buffalo. Perhaps Ritza will happen another day.
So I can catch up on some writing, some reading, some cleaning, maybe even some Russian lessons.

I like rainy Mother’s Days. Plans Change. No packing of picnics, or dressing up for brunch, just hanging out. At “home”

I have the best Mother in all the world. I think everyone who knows Frances will agree.

Frances Harper knows the joy of love and living the good life, and she know equally the pain of love lost and a tough life. She know beauty and banality. She has had her share of plenty and parsimony. Frances knows how to navigate in auspicious occasions and those occasions where no one would ever want to be found.
MOM is my mother superior, my most blessed one, who inspires me with her beauty, her grace, her kindness and forgiveness. She is a sit-on-the-bed-late-at-night-giggle-with-the-girls-mom. She is a sure-why-not-mom. When she was “too old” she paddled solo down the Guadalupe river in an inner tube, screaming with the rest of us, and in the dead of winter she hiked with snow-shoes in the mountains in Colorado. Each "I'm-too-old-adventure" she curses and says "I'll never let you do this to me again" reminding us she is too old, but of course secretly enjoying her “too-oldness”.
Granny is a champion among champions. She plays a mean piano and organ, and knows the ancient art of short-hand. She says she can’t cook, but all three of her daughters remain well-fed, even today. Quite frankly I think the “oh, I can’t cook thing” is a muse - mom’s smart enough to cook when and what she wants, but not to be stuck in the kitchen cooking my favorite, your favorite, and everyone’s favorite dish every day. I like this practical approach. And her squash casserole is yet unmatched by any.

Everything I am, the good and the naughty has it’s roots in this red-headed, hot-headed, gentle-spirited, generous mother of mine.
I am my own person, but much of that is because Franny Wilson was her own person and she showed me how. Peg made mistakes, still makes mistakes, and she deals with what has been dealt her (perhaps keeping a few lucky cards in her back pocket, and regularly disposing of unnecessary cards along the way).
She is my hero, my inspiration, my friend and foe, she makes me happy and mad, warm and boiling hot.
GaGee is a fabulous grandmother, and a tremendous great grandmother but it is her motherness that I love.

It is the simple, never changing fact that Martha Frances Wilson Harper, Granny, Gagee, Peg, Franny, mom is and will always be my mother, and that brings me more joy and strength, courage and kindness, curiosity and balder-dashidness than I deserve.

Thank you Mom, I love you. I am grateful the gods selected me to be your daughter.

PS: I happen to have with me the picture of you in those ridiculous, “jeweled” red glasses that you “won” at the goofy gift exchange a couple of Christmas’s ago. I look at it often, and giggle. This is my elegant, poised wacky-I-can’t -believe-she-is-really-wearing-these-mother!!!! I am hoping you will bring the equally ridiculous egg pan for this year's goofy gift, but you may have already selected something even stupider (is that a word?)
see ya,
daughter#2