Happy Birthday, Mom

My good friend whom I’ve never met in person, Jim Borden, wrote a tribute to his mother yesterday because it was her birthday. Twas my mother’s birthday as well. Just another thing Jimbo and I have in common. But, I digress.

M is for Marvelous Musical Mary born in March. To know my mother is to experience her Musical talent. From her early days, she’s been the

pianist for all the town events. She Majored in Music and has played for Many a wedding, funeral and bar Mitzvah. (I might be exaggerating about that last bit.) My dad bought her a black Yamaha Grand piano years ago. She didn’t even kill me when I Mindlessly threw a rock across the living room, hitting her brand new piano, taking a little gouge out of its shiny black finish.

O is for Overcoming Obstacles. Mom comes from the dusty plains of Oklahoma, where they literally walked a mile in the snow to get to school. She attended an unusual college which gave her good Music instruction and her M.R.S., but warped her Mind with its religious nutcake ideas. Once she Overlooked an extremely unObvious note I left for her in the detritus of a cluttered countertop UNDER A LAMP; an Odd place to leave a note, Obviously.

T is for Trying again and again, as in if at first you don’t succeed, Try, Try, again. Mother is the one who Taught me that There’s no such thing as can’t, which messed with my mind for a lot of years before I discovered that There IS such a Thing as won’t.

H is for HER indomitable spirit. This is the woman who killed a spider on the wall, with her foot …

above her head. If only we’d had iPhones back then. This is the woman who drove across the country with three small children who were probably fighting like cats and dogs, which would be bad enough but said mother also had the flu with all of the accompanying unpleasant symptoms. She got us home safe and sound, although she probably wanted to Duct Tape us to the rear bumper while she drove, to get a break from the bickering. Many other things has she endured and come out stronger on the other side. I think Mom is where I got my ability to persist, as I wrote about yesterday.

I is for Incredible. My mother made us clothes, with love. She has singlehandedly created the most beautiful furnishings for hundreds of people over the years. She loves to be Innovative and use her Imagination. She’s a writer of prose and music. Her reputation as a fun-loving, joyful party guest is widely known.

N is for you Need to know there is Not one thing in this post or elsewhere that Needs to be seen as tragic or problematic. She is Nothing but fantastic, because she, too, is imperfectly perfect.

S is for surprise. Because you (and I) thought this acrostic poem was going to spell MOTHER. She’d be the first to tell you that she enjoys the unexpected and doesn’t want to be like everyone else (which is why I had to buy my own Calvin Klein jeans) and as a result, is just the most alive, interested,
animated, lively, full of life, alert, active, energetic, vigorous, spry, sprightly, vital, vivacious, buoyant, exuberant, ebullient, zestful, spirited, full of beans, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, chipper, peppy and full of vim and vigor person I know. She’s just the best.

Happy Birthday, Mom.

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