Mother's Day Review

Mother's Day passed well and without trauma. I'd gone to my hometown to celebrate the birthdays of my older sister, her husband, and my younger brother, who were all born on May 5 and 6. We had a wonderful beach barbecue, flew kites, and ate luscious homemade birthday cake (made by family friend Ellen E.). It was a gathering so like the family parties my mom and dad used to orchestrate. We brought bottles of soap solution for the kids to blow bubbles with, and at the beach my 4-year-old niece sat while we scooped sand over her legs and feet to make a mermaid's tail. Then she'd burst up, run to another location, sit down and demand we do it again. That was Saturday of Mother's Day weekend. That evening, my brother-in-law offered to watch the little ones while my younger sister and I went out for a sisterly visit. We hadn't had that luxury--just her and I, alone to do as we pleased--in probably 10 years. We went up to a nearby restaurant and ate strawberry shortcake on the back patio and talked and talked. Sunday, Mother's Day, I got up and ate breakfast with her and the girlies, then drove north 15 minutes to see my younger brother's new apartment. I stopped again in Santa Barbara proper to visit my older sister in her bookstore, and then drove up to San Luis Obispo to see Jim and Ellen. I hadn't had my Jim and Ellen fix in too long, and it was a balm to see them. We watched golf and drank wine and ate crackers, olives stuffed with anchovies, and smoked oysters, all of which made my Greek blood hum in my veins. I got to read the latest, and final, draft of one of Jim's short stories, which he's submitting to a few contests (good luck!), and found he had polished it to a lovely shine. Too soon, it was time to hit the freeway for four more hours of driving. I did think of my mom quite a lot over the weekend, and my dad as well, but never in grief. I'm grateful.