|Photo of me...Art by me...|
My mother is me...I am my mother.
It isn’t a typical day in San Francisco, it is blustery and rainy. It is the kind of wind that wants your attention, and it will blow your umbrella inside out to make sure you know it has it.
I was walking home with my baseball cap on- my backpack (“ruck-sack” for you Irish folks) was wrapped with a plastic trash bag, so I wasn’t particularly worried about the rain. I saw people’s umbrellas ripped up and heard yelps as the pretty made-up folks cried out in despair. They were melting.
I slowed my pace and enjoyed the rain. You east coast folks, you take it for granted, it is a pest to you. It just won’t leave you alone. And then it gets angry and freezes upon you—showing you who really is boss.
In California, the folks walking in the rain were happy and giddy. It was surprisingly contagious!
I got home to my little room, my window is open -I plopped upon the side of my bed- looked up— and there was mom. (sighing) As I noticed mom in the reflection, the wind shook the window. It was as if “she” knew—I knew—-that she was finally me…I was finally her.
I turned to pick up the camera, she loved wearing V-neck shirts, though I don’t ever recall her wearing a man’s t-shirt. However, she had the same neck, same collar bone, same wide shoulders and breast. I sat and stared and tears ran down my cheeks, and I told her I was sorry I couldn’t afford to keep the old homestead.
So. Life goes on. We blink, we drink, we cheer the wind—hells bells, we do better than that—we f-ing RIDE the wind!! Ride that energy sweet loves!! Soaring beside you!
I love you wild wonderful facebookians!!