Saturday, October 3
And Along Comes Eva
I always tell people that my grandmothers passed each other in the hospital: one carrying my father out and the other coming in to deliver my mother. I am pretty sure this isn't true but I like the idea of it anyway.
My mother can sew satin prom dresses and make stained glass art. She can also burn cheese toast better than anyone I have ever known.
My mom has a phone voice. It is a voice that gets even sweeter whenever she answers the voice in the middle of yelling at one of her kids (namely me). She could be raging mad then the phone would ring and it would be the most honeyed "hello?" you ever heard.
In high school, my mother wore gloves and puffy skirts to dances. Her hair towered high above her head.
When I see red lipstick, I think of my mother.
She takes her coffee with milk and sugar.
She had wanted to become a teacher and with four children of her own, I think she was a very good one.
And, sixty-six years ago and seven days after my dad, my mom also graced us with her presence.
Happy Birthday, Mom.