It's raining outside. Not hard like it was last night just a drizzle.
The clouds and dampness keep the day from fully waking.
The dogs linger close to the house.
The happy noises of the hens in the side yard is absent.
Today is my mother's birthday.
I have a memory which has been hanging in my mind for about a week now.
It involves the back of a Buick station wagon, the hot sunlight, and the downtown library, which is now the Leonardo.
When I was little it was big escalators rising up to rows of books, strange corners, and distant Adult floors. It was foreign. I was down-town, it was sparkly, and I knew it was somewhere near the Deseret Gym, where my mother took us to swim.
I remember her in her pretty dresses, stylish hair, fit body, my mom was actually the prettiest mom, everybody said so.
She was also the nicest mom & she spoiled us, me and my two older sisters.
My father has always been the one in charge.
He is a magnificent story teller. His family is the family we were raised with. My mom's past was mostly silent a few stories involving bus stops in the winter snows, one dress for school...a hard life on the west side of the Salt Lake Valley.
I am my father's daughter in almost every way but one.
She took us to the International Peace Gardens because as a child she was taken there. She took us to Gilgal, to the Artesian Well, to the library, to the park.
I am my father's daughter but I am chasing my mother's legacy.
Happy Birthday Mom!
I called but you were in church :)