HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!

It's my Mom's birthday, and I think that everybody should know about it.
Why?

• Because when I was younger and did stupid stuff, she scolded me, or punished me when it was appropriate and she loved me.
• Because she let me choose dinner on my birthday.
• Because she hugged me when my heart broke.
  
• Because she kept the cookbook that my second grade class (with Mrs. Frinsko) made until I was in my forties.
• Because when I was older and did stupid stuff she scolded me, or sympathized with me and she loved me.
• Because she likes the foods that I cook, which puts her a step ahead of my children.
• Because now that I'm an adult and I do stupid stuff, she sympathizes, and she loves me, and she hugs me when my heart breaks.
• Because she had six of us and still she tells us that we can visit her and Dad in Florida and stay at their place - even with the kids.
• Because she hugs my kids when their hearts break.
• Because she knew the difference between stupid stuff and a mistake - most of the time.
• Because she loves me.

So, Happy Birthday, Mom!

If you want to send my Mom birthday wishes, comment on this post. I'll make sure she sees them.

They All Smile in L.L. Bean Catalogs

And do you know why? They're getting paid, that's why. And they're wearing nice, warm clothing that they didn't have to pay for. Oh, sure, they have to take it off eventually, but they'll be indoors and toasty. If I sound bitter, I'm surprised you can hear it through the chattering teeth.
I left my house Tuesday morning at 8:00 am for an appointment. It was minus six degrees Fahrenheit, according to the dashboard thermometer. As I looked at that number, I thought, "Wow. It's ten degrees warmer than it was when I went to work at 7:00 am yesterday."
I said to my wife, when I came back inside after taking out the trash (for some reason a masculine job), "Perhaps the blizzard will warm things up a bit." Because that's tomorrow's weather - ten to fifteen inches of the white stuff - and it probably will warm things up a bit, although it's likely to be pretty cold when I'm walking behind my snowblower. And I'll be cold and wet and ready to go inside when the snowplow goes by and fills in the end of my driveway. And because I grew up in this town, I know the driver and he knows me, so he'll beep his horn and smile and wave and say "Hi!" And that simple gesture of friendliness, that driver's reaching out to an old friend even as he pushes hundreds of pounds of snow back into his driveway, that beep and that smile and that wave combine to fill me with that sort of liquid anger that makes me want to blow up everything that's big and orange.

It's not your fault, Bill, and I get over it.

I look on Facebook at all of my friends who have moved away and are pining for the rocky coast of Maine, and the glorious foliage, and the lakes, and the snow-covered mountains. Do you know what I've noticed? They've all moved away from the rocky coast of Maine, and the glorious foliage, and the lakes, and the snow-covered mountains. I bet most of them are someplace warmer.
I've thought about it. I've often thought that, when the kids are grown (does that ever happen? My Mom says it doesn't), I'd like to move to warmer climes. My wife has always said that she wouldn't move without the kids, and I've always told her that I'd miss her, but we can always e-mail. Even she's talking about it, now.

It's funny, though.

I don't think about it in the summer.