Letters from my Mom’s Boyfriends

I read her love letters from pathetic Arthur asking her about wardrobe advice, not understanding he would always be too embarrassingly unhip for Mom no matter how impressive his single-engine Cessna. I read the short, Franglais letters from Denis when he took that construction job in Algeria—erotic longing seeping through the thin airmail paper. I saw these men only as temporary extensions of Mom. They came and went as others had and were therefore not worth me getting to know. But they were important to Mom and through their words on these pages I glimpse her restless, lonely soul.

Inspired by . . . nothing, I just wanted to change the topic. Image by LambArtist.

Winter Whiteouts and Memory Blizzards

The theme is music and I’m supposed to follow the lead and the cursor’s blinking and I’m stewing over whiteouts and car rentals and another trip to the frozen prairie to move a loved one into long term care. I made the fateful decision and now must see it through—and I’ve got nothing, absolutely nothing for the blog.
     Suddenly I overhear a snippet of an old song on seasonal rotation and the memories come flooding. Lost and out of reach to her, suddenly vivid and alive to me. Yes, I‘ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.

Sheet music by Melrose Music Corp., ca. 1943. Author’s note: To accommodate travel requirements, I wrote this contribution before Nancy posted her delightful ode to summer flowers. On the day this appears on the blog I will be in Saskatchewan, where in December there are no snowdrops but those falling from the sky.

Pandemic Togetherness

There are no clubs or cozy cafés, no pints on tap, no films downtown, so at exactly 7:30 we stand on the sidewalk, appropriately distanced of course, and launch into cacophonous tribute with our pots and pans as a between-calls ambulance cruises slowly past and replies with a siren WHOOP and lights, and we bang our cookware harder, hearts bursting, who doesn’t love a parade, grinning like idiots and telling the kids, you’ll remember this—then we all peaceably disperse, thankful for our responders and our fellow citizens and the relative sanity of our politicians, and knowing we are #StrongerTogether.

Photo by Ron Thompson, April 2020

Taurus ♉

Dad always drove a Ford. He had a Country Sedan wagon when we were little, then traded into Ford’s wild-west line. Alas, never a Mustang – he brought home an economical four-door Maverick. Later, he bought a second car for Mom, a little Pinto, and when we all left home he traded the Maverick for a sporty Bronco. He never held it against Ford when he heard that Pintos were susceptible to exploding, and Broncos to rollovers; but that marked the end of the equine models. He sold both horses and bought the company’s bull. He drove that Taurus for years.