I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse--Warren Zevon

It's still hard.  It think it will always be hard in some ways.  I walked through the living room one day and smelled mom's cigarette smoke.  She quit smoking true cigarettes almost a year ago.  The other day Imp said something and I could have sworn that it was mom calling me.

Mom would have wanted us to keep going and to smile, though.  Even at the end, when it just plain hurt her to move because of he fibro and OA and everything else, she tried to find things in life to enjoy.  It was hard, but she did try.  Not always successful, but she did try.

I figure that the best way to remember mom is to live my life to the fullest that I can.  To tell the stories of her.  To get the tattoo that she wanted.

The woman that introduced my parents to each other back in '74 was mom's sister in all but blood.  She was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor right around the time Imp was born.  She was given six months to live.  She made it damn near six years.  Mom was devastated that she couldn't make it to South Carolina for her funeral.  It broke mom's heart.

I know that those two women are together somewhere creating havoc and cackling like the two of the three witches for 'McBeth'. 

Right before mom came home from her first and last chemo treatment, I had gotten my first yarn from the people at Sanguine Gryphon.  Some lace weight Mithril in their Red Dragon color-way.

When I saw it, I was thinking of mom's sister:

The picture doesn't really do it justice.  This is red.  Hooker red.  Get in your face, take no prisoners red. 

See, the lady in question could not wear red of any shade.  And it drove her batty because she loved the color.  Mom and I can wear red any day of the week and look wonderful in it.  My aunt (she was married to a cousin, but we called them aunt and uncle) wanted to hate us, but couldn't.  She groused instead.

I don't know why I thought of her when I saw this yarn om the website, but I did.  I've got a pattern in mind.  I'm going to knit it for me, but these two women, the two who taught me that old didn't mean stodgy are going to be in every stitch.

Hey Mom?  Go have fun.

Sometimes I wish I were a little kid again, skinned knees are easier to fix than broken hearts. ~Author Unknown

She was the center of my home.  Hardly any decision concerning matters related to home repair, cars, hair cuts, school, doctors, clothing, make-up, you name it, was made without her input.

She welcomed everyone in with a smile and a 'make yourself comfortable'.  After the second time, you were family and told where the coffee mugs and glasses were kept.  You could fend for yourself.  Needed to use the bathroom?  Down the hall and it's the first door.  Leave a quarter, please.

She taught us to use manners, and by all that's held holy, we would use them.  She put the fear of her into us.  As well into all the kids in the neighborhood.  Some had to learn that the hard way.  She would forgive, but not forget. 

They knew each other only three weeks before getting married.  This would have been their 37th anniversary on December 7th.

Mom would talk to anyone without bias.  She didn't care about your creed, race, nationality, any of it.  She saw you, the person first.  She taught that to my brother and I.  We, in turn, are teaching her lessons to our children.

She said that the Sarah McLachlan song 'Ordinary Miracle' reminded her of the grandkids. 

Can't sleep, something will obviously eat me.

Fark.

 So, it's right around 1.30 in the morning CST.  Why in the name of fuzzy unicorns am I still up?

I've got my two hour road trip to handle in about nine hours--give or take.  Not cool Murphy.  You and Karma need to find someone else to bork with.  I.  Am.  Not.  Amused.  Seriously.

Yeah, y'all heard right.  Every Friday, yours truly takes a two hour (thankfully not three, 'cause I don't think I'd get THAT song outta my head.) round trip to pick my niece, Violet, up.

Don't ask why her father doesn't drive.  It just irritates me.

Also, don't ask why Mommie Dearest of Violet doesn't meet us half-way.  That, too irritates me. 

And I come armed with pointy sticks and large amounts of string.

Anyway, we have no working central air.  This is not fun for your intrepid typer.  I suffer from migraines.  I've had the bitches for...fifteen years now.  Just about half my life.  Heat and humidity are large triggers.  So is stress.

So, yeah.  That's probably why I ain't sleeping so well lately.  Sadly, that's also a trigger.  I can't win, can I?  Well, I head over to St. Louis to the neuro clinic next week.  I can yell at them to hopefully get the meds that will work.  If not...well, look for news reports about a cranky woman strangling doctors with yarn.