I had dinner with mom last night; lamp chops cooked with garlic, peas, mashed potatoes and a giant mushroom sautéed in butter salt and pepper. It was simple and it was good. And nobody enjoys her food like Mom. I realized that, throughout my lifetime, I have shared more meals with mom than anyone else. That is a real pleasure that I will never trivialize of dismiss.
For me, the holiday season is not what it used to be. Years past, as everyone readied for the inevitable feast with family and friends holding court, as each of us scurried around in search of the perfect gift to assure loved ones we knew them well, or just navigating the crowded streets and shops, in the back of my mind I was always wondering when and where I could get off by myself for a moment of peace and quiet.
Now I have lots of peace and quiet, aloneness. And my true family takes up the first five numbers on my speed dial. Luckily, the first number on that short list is Hope – the woman who brought me into the world. She is worried these days; about the news, about the type of world she fears her grandchildren may inherit, about her own children and the trials they are facing, about the health and welfare of her aging close girlfriends. But, unlike any other person I know, she still has a remarkable sparkle in her eyes and an easy sense of humor that can soften the roughest of times. Her spirit is pure and true. Of all the people I have encountered during my life I have learned more from my mother – My Hope.
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