I wrote this on a past Mother’s Day. I don’t think I could write better than this about my mother.

Special days have special posts. 

Today is Mother’s Day. It is the day I honor my mother and my memories of her. Every year I post basically this same entry with only a few little changes. 

I am amazed at how long ago I lost my mother. Sometimes it seems like a day while other times it feels like forever. I keep her close always, in my heart. 

My mother was amazing. She was generous, fun to be with and was the perfect martyr when she needed to be, a skill I think most mothers have. It was her tone of voice so filled with pain that caused our guilt to well to the surface. “I’ll do it myself,” she’d say. We’d scurry to do whatever she wanted. She was tricky, that woman.

My sisters and I laugh often about the curses she inflicted on us: the love of everything Christmas and never thinking you have enough presents for everyone, giving Easter baskets overflowing with candy and fun toys and surprising people with a gift just because.

My mother had a generosity of spirit. She was funny and smart and the belle of every ball. She always had music going in the kitchen as she worked so she could sing along. She played Frank and Tony and Johnny and from her I learned the old songs. My mother drew all the relatives to her, and her house was filled on holidays and weekends. My cousins visited often. She was their favorite aunty. My mother loved to play Big Boggle, and we’d sit for hours at the kitchen table and play so many games we’d lose track of the time. Christmas was always amazing, and she passed this love to all of us. We traveled together, she and I, and my mother was game for anything. I remember Italy and my mother and me after dinner at the hotel bar where she’d enjoy her cognac. She never had it any other time, but we’re on vacation she said and anything goes. I talked to her just about every day, as did my sisters. I loved it when she came to visit. We’d shop, have dinner out then play games at night. I always waited on her when she was here. I figured it was the least I could do.

My mother loved extreme weather shows, TV judges and crime. She never missed watching Judge Judy. She also liked quiz shows and she and I used to play Jeopardy together on the phone at night. She always had a crossword puzzle book with a pen inside on the table beside her chair, and I used to try to fill in some of the blanks. On the dining room table was often a jigsaw puzzle, and we all stopped to add pieces on the way to the kitchen. My mother loved a good time.

She did get feisty, and I remember flying slippers aimed at my head when I was a kid and one time a dictionary, a big dictionary, was thrown which luckily missed me though the binding broke when it hit the wall. I pointed that out to her and that made her madder. She expertly used mother’s guilt on us, her poor victims. We sometimes drove her crazy, and she let us know, none too quietly. We never argued over politics. She kept her opinions close. We sometimes argued over other things, but the arguments never lasted long.

Even after all this time, I still think to reach for the phone to call my mother when I see something interesting or have a question I know only she can answer, but then in a split second I remember. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was of her, and how much she is missed. No one ever told me how hard it would be. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

The morning is yesterday and the day before that. The weather is the same. Clouds still hold sway and the temperature is in the 50’s, but the sun is supposed to make an appearance. I’m hoping it will. I need a bit of sunshine.

I am, as per the quote, celebrating my spirit animal, the sloth, today. It was a busy week. I frantically cleaned and had four uke events. The last two were concerts. During the Thursday concert, my music book kept falling because the top of the stand has a broken screw and can’t be tightened. At the third fall, all the pages came loose on the floor. I really wanted to curse, but circumstances didn’t allow it. That was the breaking point. I ordered another stand and it came yesterday but too late to use. I’ll practice putting it together a few times before next week’s concert.

When I was a kid, my father had his Saturday rituals. In the morning he’d have coffee, always instant which he preferred, and read his paper. He’d then go up town. Sometimes I was lucky enough to go with him. First stop was always the Chinese laundry. My father only wore white shirts back then and always had them laundered. I loved that laundry. The counter was in front just a bit inside the door. On the right was a window. In front of the window was a giant sort of iron. It had two parts, a pull down top and a bottom of the same size. Sometimes a man was working the iron. Steam made a hissing noise and came out the sides of the iron when the top was down. I liked watching him. My father’s shirts were always wrapped in brown paper and secured with string. The barber shop was next, a couple of doors down. It was small, only two chairs. My father usually just got his hair trimmed. I used to sit in a chair by the window and read magazines. They were all about hunting and fishing. Sometimes we’d visit my father’s friend at his drug store. I got a coke at the soda fountain while I waited. After my father was done visiting, we’d go home. I always loved those mornings with just my father and me. They were special.

We seem to be stuck in the 50’s with clouds every day. No rain is predicted, just those clouds. At night, it gets chillier, sweatshirt chillier.

Today I have a concert. It always amazes me that I can play a musical instrument. No one in my family plays. None of my friends played. The closest I got to making music was the triangle in the rhythm band when I was in the second grade. I wanted the sticks, but I didn’t have a choice so I got stuck with the triangle. I have wind chimes in my yard. When the wind blows, the chimes make the sweetest sound. They always remind me of how I fell in love with that triangle.

When I was a kid, I had adventures. I remember when my brother and I found a shack in the woods beside the field below my house. It was small. The roof was covered in a dirty tarp with holes. The door was a piece of cloth. No one was around it so my brother and I went inside. We had to crawl as the roof was so low. The floor was dirt and so was what we found. A few piles of magazines were inside. They were all Playboy sorts with naked women. We got out of there quickly. We never went back as we didn’t want to run into the builder of the shack. Much later, when we were a little older, we figured it might have been a teenager hiding the magazines from his mother. Maybe under the mattress was filled.

A chain link fence separated the project from the houses behind it which were actually on a different street. I remember a huge white house with a porch. I used to walk by it when I went to the field to pat the two horses. There was a short dirt road beside it. One day I investigated down that road. I found a neat looking house. It was small and had one floor. The front was all screened. It looked like a cottage, the sort that Hansel and Gretel found but without the gingerbread. I looked through the side windows at a living room with chairs and a couch. No one was there. I always wondered who lived there.

When I take a ride, I go down roads I’ve never been. I keep taking rights until I reach the ocean then I go left until I reach the ocean on the other side. I sometimes stop at an interesting store or to buy lunch where I’ve never eaten before. I’m always up for adventure.

Last night we had a terrific storm. It started with thunder then came a bolt or two of lightning. The rain was last. The three of us, the dogs and I, listened to the thunder. They got bored and went back to sleep. I listened until the end. It didn’t rain long. Today is in the high 50’s and sunny.

Things disappear. Sometimes we notice. Sometimes they disappear with little fanfare. When I was a kid, corner stores were everywhere. They were the go to for bread or milk. We had two of them a short bike ride away. I don’t know their real names. They were the white store and the red store. I usually went to the white store. Inside the door to the right was the glass case of penny candy. My mother always made sure I had a few pennies for my trouble. Uptown was filled. I remember the spa because my aunt took me there a few times. It is strange what we save in our memory drawers. On the walls of the spa were little posters. I remember one with a drawing of a lime rickey. I remember sitting in a wooden booth with tall sides. The only restaurant in the square faced the police box. It was long and narrow. My mother used to buy me a sandwich there when we got home from the orthodontist in Boston. I ate it as we walked to school. The restaurant was beside the men’s clothing store. They are all gone now.

I remember Story Land in Hyannis. It was on the field which eventually became the home of the mall. We never went there. I just remember seeing some of the wooden houses and figures as we drove by the field. Downtown Hyannis had wonderful stores. I bought my first Roy Orbison album there. I used to buy paperbacks off the outside rack at the store near the movie theater. I spent countless hours at Lorania’s Bookstore. Buttner’s was across the street, sort of, from the bookstore. I remember there were mannequins in the windows wearing what we thought of as old lady clothes. Zayre’s, Grants and Woolworth’s were all on Main Street. I remember Main Street was one way in the summer and two way the rest of the year. I loved window shopping and strolling up and down Main Street. I don’t remember the last time I did that.

My dance card is filled. I have a concert today and another tomorrow. I’m going to buy a few plants for the front garden. I also need dry dog food, a few cans of cat food, bread and something chocolate for my trouble. I’m thinking a cupcake.

The morning is absolutely beautiful. If I looked in the dictionary for the definition of spring, it would describe today. The so very bright sun sits in a deep blue sky. It will get to 65°. The dogs stay out longer. Nala lies on the only patch of grass in the backyard and sunbathes. Henry sniffs the ground and wanders.

When I was a kid, I used to check the moon to see if the man in the moon was smiling. He usually was. I wished on the first star, “I wish I may. I wish I might.” I loved to watch fireflies flit around the field. When I was really little, I figured they were Tinker Bell’s friends and relatives. Magic was all around. You just had to look. You just had to believe.

I always love the first fireflies I see in my backyard. On warm nights I sit outside on the deck to watch the fireflies and listen to the night birds and crickets and cicadas. Each has its own song. I sometimes light my chiminea. I have piñon wood. Its aroma sweetens the air. The night still has a bit of magic about it.

My language instructor Lawal used to tell us Ghanaian folk tales and stories. He told us why mosquitos buzz ears. It seems mosquitos were enamored with ear, but ear did not return the affection and refused mosquito. Since that time, mosquitos buzz ears to let them know he is still around, and his feelings haven’t changed. The moon chases the sun in the hope that sun will return moon’s ardor. An eclipse is as close as he gets.

I have entered into a sort of madness. Yesterday I deep cleaned the living room. It took nearly two hours. Today I tackle the dining room. I need to be saved.

My dance card is ukulele heavy. I have my usual practice and lesson as well as two concerts. We’re practicing The Beach Boys and playing the second 70’s book at the concerts. It’s a busy week.

Today is a bit bleak. The sky is grey. Everything is wet from last night’s rain. The only saving grace is it will be warm, in the low 60’s. I have no place I need to go today. The animals have food. I have food. All is well.

When I was a kid, we took a trip to New Hampshire to the Hood Dairy Farm. I remember they played music for the cows. The guide said the cows had ears for music and gave more milk when it was played. My father worked for Hood but Hood ice cream, not Hood milk. My grandfather worked for Hood milk in Charlestown. I remember the building had a huge brick chimney with Hood Milk painted down from the top. My Girl Scout troop once toured that building. I remember watching bottles being filled with milk. I learned Hood was the first company to use glass bottles. One of my favorite childhood memories is the sound of those bottles clinking against each other in the metal carrier when the milkman delivered milk to the back stairs box outside the kitchen door. I still have a wooden box with metal inside which insulated the milk as it sat on the back stairs.

When I lived in Ghana, the only milk I used was evaporated milk in the can. It came from the Netherlands. I used it mostly in my coffee. I lived in the only part of the country which bred cows, but there was never milk. Ghanaians didn’t drink milk. I used to buy my milk from little kiosks lining the main road. At first the coffee tasted terrible, but I drank it anyway. I needed my morning coffee. In a while, I got used to the taste. When I went back 40 years later, I still drank evaporated milk in my coffee.

Last night Nala brought in a few sticks. She likes to lie on the mat and chew them into small pieces. I am not a fan as she leaves tiny bits of branch all over the floor. When I call her on it, she grabs the branch and runs out the back door. Last night it happened a couple of times, and I threw the pieces out into the yard. Later she was again chewing. I didn’t look until I heard a different sound. I wondered what she had. When I checked, I found my credit card chewed a bit with teeth marks on the corners. It must have fallen out of my wallet. I called to get a new one.

Of course it might rain today and will definitely rain tomorrow because I washed the kitchen floor yesterday. I also washed the hall floor. I should have realized rain is inevitable. Right now it is cloudy and about 50°. That will stay today’s weather.

I used to like comic books. Classics Illustrated comics were favorites. I got to see illustrated in color the plots of the books I had read. I remember Kidnapped more than others though I don’t know why. I used to go to Woolworth’s. Right near the door was a circular holder filled with comics. I’d spin it a few times trying to figure out the best choice for my dime. I remember one comic I bought was Spin and Marty from the Mickey Mouse Club. Another was Superman. I wish I still had those.

When I was a kid, I was afraid of almost nothing except maybe the guy with the hook. My father told us that story. I believed him. I was never out after dark, not out of fear but because my life happened in the daytime. On weekdays I was in school. Sunday was the Lord’s day, church day. Saturday was the only day which was mine.

I’ve never understood why mostly girls scream at spiders. Spiders mind their own business. They weave webs and hunt flies and moths. I used to watch them. I knew they bit but I was never worried. Really, who could be afraid of Charlotte?

In the movie The Fly, a man tries to teleport. What he didn’t know was a fly was in the machine with him. They, the fly and the man, merge. The man’s body has a fly’s head and one leg. The fly gets the man’s head and arm. It flies out of the house and gets caught in a spider’s web. That scene is one of my favorites. As the top half, the man half, cries, “Help me! Help me!,” from in the web, the spider advances toward him. The spider looks enormous. The fly-man looks tiny. It is a scary scene if you’re afraid of spiders. I’ll leave the plot there and not describe the sudden demise of the fly-man. I’ll just let you know it wasn’t the spider.

The sun is elsewhere. Today will be cloudy all day. It will be in the 50’s. I’ll be home. I have everything I need, even a Snickers bar.

My downstairs bathroom is decorated with school stuff. I have no idea why I chose that motif. The extra towels are kept in a small roll up desk. A wooden chalkboard is down and holds a pencil box, an old ruler, a small globe the bank used to give away and a blue tin jar which once held Ding Dong School paint. The top of the board has a roller, and you can change the paper decoration. I do that. There are old school pictures of places and people I don’t know hanging on the walls. My favorite picture is one hung on the wall below the medicine cabinet. It isn’t an original but rather a copy. It is the graduation picture of my eighth grade class dressed to the nines. We are seated in front of the statue in front of the convent. The boys are all wearing suits, and most of the girls are wearing fluffy dresses, even me who didn’t like fluff. The original picture was rolled for probably hundreds of years, okay an exaggeration, but it did stayed rolled long enough so the picture was cracked when you unrolled it. I went to the photo shop and had it reproduced. You can see white lines which are the cracks, but they don’t hide the picture. I can still identify many of my classmates.

When I was a kid, we went to the drive-in many summer Saturday nights. My grandfather had a pass so we got in free. My father made bug juice and popcorn and bought a few candy bars. The first picture was always suitable for kids. The second was more adult because most kids fell sleep. We got out of the car during intermission to go to the playground in front of the concession stand. All the kids wore pajamas. What I remember most was we left early. My father hated waiting in traffic so we left before the end of the movie. I remember looking out the window wistfully. I remember wondering who the murderer was.

Last night it rained hard enough to be heard on the windows, but it didn’t rain long. Today is cloudy again. Rain is a possibility. It has been raining so much I swear my feet are webbing.

I have a couple of events on my dance card today. My teeth are getting cleaned, and I’m heading to Plymouth for a uke concert. We are playing for their Friday open streets. We’ll play an hour, take a break then play a second hour. We’re singing from our songs of the 70’s books. We have two of them.

When I was a kid, my mother made tuna salad for our Friday school lunches. The only other seafood she served was fish sticks for some Friday night dinners. She served them with French fries. I loved those fish sticks. I don’t know how old I was when I started to love steam clams. My mother would prepare them then she’d leave the room. She couldn’t watch us eat them. She found them disgusting. She loved shrimp, any shrimp dish. She liked lobster but only baked stuffed. My father would go quahogging, and my mother would make stuffed quahogs and freeze them. She’d surprise us with them. She made a fish casserole dish which was extraordinary. It had not only fish but also shrimp, of course it did. I still make that dish.

My father had a sweet tooth. He used to hide his candy under the couch. We all knew it, and we’d sometimes steal a few. My mother would buy him a large package of Hershey miniatures, and those he’d keep on the table close at hand when he watched TV. He always sat in the same spot on the couch next to the side table. On that table, his candy was in a small bowl, pewter I think, beside the lamp and an ashtray. He had a calendar on the table to keep track of special events or appointments. My dog Shauna used to sit in front of him or beside him on the couch. He always shared his goodies with her. He hid them from us, but he shared with her.

We have sun, a bright sun. I almost didn’t recognize it. We also have a blue sky. It is in the low 50’s. It is a pretty day. Today is a spring day. UPDATE: The ubiquitous clouds are back!

My father used to work for an ice cream company. He became the manager in Hyannis which brought us down here. When I was a kid, he’d bring home ice cream. Once he brought home a few pints, and my sister thought the pints, being so small, were ice cream for her dolls. A couple of times my father gave out Hoodsies on Halloween. What I remember the most was the dry ice. It was in a padded box with the ice cream to keep it frozen. My father would dump the dry ice into the sink and turn the water on. A cloud would form over the sink. It was almost like magic.

When I first went to school, I was afraid of the nuns. They wore black and white and were pretty much covered from the tops of their heads to their ankles. Only their faces and hands were visible. They swished when they walked, and the beads around their waists made clicking noises. When I was older, I came to think of the bead noise as an early warning system. The nuns were coming. Look innocent. The last thing anyone of us wanted was to be a target for their wrath. I don’t remember when they stopped scaring me.

One of my favorite places when I was growing up was O’Grady’s Diner. It was at the bottom edge of uptown. It had booths with red seats and stools at the counter, also with red seats. Each booth had a connection to the jukebox. The connection was a small box, almost a mini jukebox, with a coin slot on the silver top and pages of songs behind glass. You could turn the pages from the top to see all the songs, three songs for a quarter. Sometimes you had to wait to hear your song because it was in a line of songs, sort of a chronological list. Some Saturdays my father would take me to O’Grady’s for breakfast. He’d give me a quarter for the music. We both usually had bacon, eggs and toast. He had coffee. I had juice. Later, when I was in my teens, my friends and I sometimes went to O’Grady’s after drill practice. We always ordered brownies with vanilla ice cream. O’Grady’s is gone now. Where it stood is a hardware store.