Many Mothers. No Mom (#131)

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The Aisle of Pain

It was the year after Andy and I got married. It was the week before the United States would indulge in an orgy of brunches and flower arrangements.

Mother’s Day was coming at me. Much like a Mack truck. Of manure. Continue reading Many Mothers. No Mom (#131)

Forsythia (#45)

A bush of forsythia

Spring was my mother’s favorite time of the year. “Look! Forsythia!” she’d yell at the first sight of the yellow bushes in March. More exclamations soon followed:

“Look, crocuses!” Continue reading Forsythia (#45)

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