THAT’LL DO, IN A PINCH

Mothers Day, 1995. First one in the new house.

Home alone. Bruce is far, far away in some frigid place with other 
blue-eyed blonds who eat white food and say "That's different." 
("That's  different" refers to everything from a milk mustache 
on your child to being robbed at gunpoint at Paul's Discount. 
His people are not easily ruffled.)

No cards.

No calls.

         Jeez.

Of course I got up at 5:30 a.m., and no one was about to call at that hour. But as the morning dragged on, I became the guest of honor at a festive pity-party.

I stood at the kitchen window viewing the front garden. It looked like a bleak day ahead.

Then the first one landed. Never had seen one before.

Then another one landed. With his buddies.

And more.

And the show didn’t stop for an hour. It was our first year in the country, and I had never seen anything like this variety of birds until that very moment. 

The show hasn’t stopped for 16 years, 

and it almost always starts on Mothers Day.

An Understated Mama
That rare bird, a Cardinal's wife

Happy Mother’s Day to me.
And to you.