HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY - and how I miss my Mother!

May 11, 2008 - I was looking for photos to quickly print out to take with me for the Brunch Buffet at the GROVE PARK INN, here in Asheville. There would be 11 at our table. Five Mothers - Three Fathers, one grown daughter and two young boys (4 3/4 and 8 months).

I found photos! Lots of photos. But you see, I have this disease. When I start to look at pictures, I don't just see the people in them. It either sends me down memory lane or off on a tangent that starts with "Oh... look, there's my cousin's Mom - I wonder if they have a copy of that photo of her? I will scan that in and send it along, I know they will love the laughter that she is having with my Mom as they sit together."

Now if that were it, that wouldn't be too bad. But that photo of these two delightful women laughing on the couch, one with her hand held to her mouth in full blown guffaws, the other tilting her head down with as much laughter but trying to hide it with shyness... is exactly the same expressed shared personal moment that I saw in a sculpture by a young woman in Arizona.

What I would give for that piece of art!

I pulled it off. Photos of my son's Father-in-law's Mother; his Mother-in-law's Mother; of my Son and his two sons for me and my daughter-in-law, a current picture of my sister and her husband; and a current photo of my recently widowed sister.

The buffet was wonderful... enough food for several armies, and certainly enough diversity to tempt any bud out there.

When I pulled out some paperwork - or rather what I thought would be paperwork of my Father's, I found a couple of contact sheets of photos that are saved on CDs - from the parties that I have held here at my home since I moved here to the mountains.

A family reunion - or a friendly get-together - relatives, friends, and relatives of relatives joined with us to celebrate the joy of being able to gather around a table or on a deck.

SPORTS CAR RACING- FIBERSPORTS

NOT EVERY EIGHT YEAR OLD GIRL GETS TO RIDE 2400 MILES IN A CROSLEY HOTSHOT, ESPECIALLY WHEN SHE IS A MIDDLE CHILD OF FIVE.

I knew my parents were leaving for a trip. I'm not sure that I knew where they were going, or why - but a trip was to be made. The afternoon before they were to leave, the car was in my Father's garage getting a service once-over. Mom was at the shop (she did the bookkeeping and kept order in the office) and when I stopped by on my way home from school, she asked me "do you think you could find a place to ride in the car?"

I walked over to the car and looked in, two slightly padded seats sat side by side, separated by a metal sheet covered hump with a gearshift at the front edge of the seat. The open space between the seats at the back opened directly into the trunk of the small car.