This is what water, wind, and time and toil reveal

[sovay]

My mother is seventy-five today. She calls it being as old as three black bears. Last year, my father organized her a surprise party including friends and family from out of state; this year, I came over in the afternoon and gave her a reprint of Dorothy B. Hughes' Ride the Pink Horse (1946) and watched my father decorate almond cupcakes with whipped cream and fresh-made strawberry syrup, which neither my mother nor I would exactly have called a strawberry shortcake, but it was delicious. My brother and his family will come for the birthday observed at the end of the week. I finally got the chance to go for a walk with a camera for the first time in months. The camera then naturally died, but I got a harbinger of spring out of it first. The second photo comes courtesy of my father's phone.





My parents are now reminiscing about "Eve of Destruction." My father used to play it back-to-back with Phil Ochs' "Crucifixion." They are pretty sure it's still on vinyl downstairs.

Comments

[selkie]

How has it been as many years as it has and I never put together that our mothers share a damn birthday?

(I couldn't comment on DW last night from my phone and then I fell asleep.)

Also, the photo of you remains superb and its angles favor your inner dapper.

[sovay]

How has it been as many years as it has and I never put together that our mothers share a damn birthday?

WHAT.

Your mother isn't, like, the goddess of corn rot or anything, right?

(I couldn't comment on DW last night from my phone and then I fell asleep.)

(Sleeping is worth it.)

Also, the photo of you remains superb and its angles favor your inner dapper.

Thank you. It was very fine light.

[selkie]

WHAT.
Your mother isn't, like, the goddess of corn rot or anything, right?

03/09/1959 and mostly her demesne seems to be electrical transformer accidents, car wrecks, and 'toads you don't want to lick.'

EDIT: I TEXTED HER, I AM A GOOD AND DUTIFUL CHILD