Been thinking about a provocative little article I read at the auto body shop while I was waiting for my sweet, sporty rental. (You want cute? Me in a shiny new car is cute.)
The article was in Real Simple magazine, and it was titled “Ten Questions to Ask Your Mother Now”. The body shop arguably wasn’t the time or place, but they were good questions.
I see my mother just about every weekday for our morning walk with Chaco. We cover a lot of ground, conversationally, and I like to think we know each other pretty well. We have our ups and downs, sure, but ours is not a troubled relationship. She’s my favorite sounding board, my number one choir for preaching to. (The fact that I’m cognizant of how annoyed she’d be by the preposition at the end of that last sentence demonstrates how she’s my grammatical superego as well.) Love her.
Even with all that, I’d like to hear my mom’s answer to every single one of the questions listed in the article.
Gonna get on it.
I’m acutely aware of how lucky I am to be able to ask her these questions in person, and to see her expressions when she responds. I can sit beside her, and feel the warmth of her next to me. I can make her laugh, or make her lunch, or make her proud, anytime I like. My mom, herself, like so many others, doesn’t have that luxury anymore.
If I knew how to end this post without being a downer, I would have published it already.
Go call yer mom!
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