Ninety-two years ago tomorrow …

Tomorrow’s my mother’s birthday.  She loved celebrating her birthday.  Even when she got older.  Especially when she got older.  She delighted in telling people chocolateher age; and loved their reactions.

Because no one ever believed it.

She looked considerably younger, but I think the main reason everyone stared at her in disbelief was her ‘spirit’, which was probably about thirty years younger than she was.  At least.  Her zest for life, her curiosity, her willingness to try new things, her open mind, her determination, her sense of humour, her giggle, the twinkle in her eye, her energy, her positive attitude all kept her young.

One of her greatest pleasures was eating chocolate.  You could see the look of rapture on her face the minute she bit into one.  And to her, it didn’t matter — it could have been a handful of chocolate chips or a candy Continue reading

Day 287. Sound Advice

Kate, who writes Views and Mews by Coffee Kat, had a wonderful post yesterday, about her mother.  More specifically, it was a story about one time she hotdogs(Kate) had to take her mother to the hospital; and how, when they were on their way, her mom made her stop at a restaurant for lunch.

It immediately made me think of my own mother.  And a trip (one of several) we made to the hospital.

When my mother was in her sixties she was diagnosed with diabetes.  She was put on medication and was watched, like a hawk, by an endocrinologist.  Despite her fondness for chocolate her numbers were always excellent, until the day she died.  They always hovered just slightly above normal.

What will always mystify me, though, is why her body was literally ravaged by the disease, even though her diabetes was so well controlled.  She had every known complication you could think of.  Diabetic retinopathy, Continue reading

Day 188. Soup’s On

I woke up yesterday morning with a craving.  For soup.  Really not surprising, given all the snow and cold weather.  Of course by yesterday, the storm had passed; chefand I woke up to clear, sunny skies.

But it was still soup weather, as far as I was concerned.  And what I hankered for was not out of a can.  Not ‘dust’, from a just-add-water-and-stir box.  Not store made.  I wanted home made soup.  Specifically, my mother’s chicken soup.  She made THE best chicken soup.

Which meant a trip to the grocery store was in my immediate future.  I looked outside and everything seemed to be all right.  At least as much as I could see from fifteen floors up.  So I fed the cats, had breakfast, read the paper, took a shower, emptied litter boxes; and waited to see if the urge would pass.  It didn’t.

So I made a list of all the ingredients I’d need, and got dressed.  And dicked around for a while.  Much as I wanted the soup, I was in no rush to leave the warmth and comfort of my abode.  But then I spoke to a friend and committed myself.   Continue reading