February 28th would’ve been Mom’s 70th birthday pro tem; she was a leap year baby, and we traditionally celebrated the 28th, although later on, years later on, she decided she preferred March 1st.
I woke up remembering Mom loved hats. Indeed she did. Wide-brimmed, ribbon-banded hats set at a rakish angle, queenly, turban hats, and that versatile staple of sophistication, the church hat. She loved a little dash in her style. Oh, and she loved shoes too–spike-heeled, pointy-toed, leather or satin, swooped with color, glittering ornament, bowed and buttoned, or spectacular spectator. New shoes or new hat…she’d pose in front of the mirror, brown eyes sparkling, and click her tongue with satisfaction and delight. I can still see her smile.
I’ve fallen into the doldrums this week, doing the daily zombie run, thinking about writing but not, and every effort is like carrying heavy rocks from one point to another and back again.