When I was 3 or 4 years old, my mom taught me how to read. She supported me sitting in front of Sesame Street, sometimes twice a day, to begin my formal education. She helped me practice my letters, and she had some pretty memorable methods to help me learn to write properly.

We lived in Jacksonville Beach before heading to Guam, and Mom bought me educational toys and books, and I pretended magazine inserts were papers for school. And I put those inserts in a crocheted pink and purple purse with braided yarn for a drawstring handle and pretended to be going to school. I also notified my mother often about the elephant in my room. Whether it was the same as Snuffleupagus, I don't know. How was I supposed to know? He was invisible at that time. All I knew is that he was in there. In my room. Sometimes he sat down to tea with me.

My very first day of kindergarten in Guam, my mom rode the bus with me. The bus stop was just a little bit down the hill from where we lived. She wanted to make sure I got to school safely, she wanted to register me, and Dad probably needed the car that day.

When I was not quite 6 years old, my baby brother was born. I knew I was going to have a brother, and Mom knew how close we were going to be. She's had strong spiritual moments pertaining to Frank especially as a baby, regarding his safety. I wanted those moments, too.

In first grade, I peed my pants in class. The teacher said not to raise your hand while she was talking. And one day she just kept talking, and I just couldn't hold it any more. I didn't explain this to my mother until well into adulthood. I'm sure up until that point she thought I wet myself just for fun.

When I was in 2nd grade, my mom encouraged me in my very first ever spelling bee. It was a written test, and I remember winning on the word yacht. Seven years old. Mom felt proud, and she should have because she knew the intrinsic value of Sesame Street.

My first day in of school in Key West as a 3rd grader, I got lost on the way home. I got off at the wrong bus stop. The police searched for me. They took me to that cul de sac somewhere in one of the military neighborhoods and I ran straight for my mom.

In fourth grade, mom helped me read lines for my very first big Christmas play. I had a leading role. She helped me memorize my part. She also supported me playing the recorder and her teaching me attention to detail helped some of my art from art class get displayed in the local museum. Nine years old.

I also lied about doing my homework once in fourth grade. I wanted to go outside to play, which I did. Before the end of the weekend, I confessed my lie. I do not remember the consequences of my actions to this day. And no, my mom did not tell me to say that.

My mom continued supporting me through school and church and extra-curricular activities. She laid down the law at home, where chores and homework were priorities. 

Once I did really poorly on a math assignment in 5th or 6th grade. I lived in Middleburg then. All over the paper were all sorts of red marks, along with the teacher's comment, "What happened?" A big knot formed in my stomach, and I knew - I just KNEW - my parents would kill me. I did what anyone would do and hid my homework somewhere in my room. But then Mom did what any mom would do and went through my stuff. She asked me about the assignment, and she sounded disappointed, and I felt so bad for the bad grade and feeling like having to hide it that I didn't know what to say, except to declare in all my frustration that I HATED SCHOOL. Which I didn't, but Mom totally understood, and she gave me a big hug.

Mom still gives me big hugs.

Once I told my Mom that my life had taken a turn of self-destruction and I was not slowing down on the downward spiral. She told me I'd have to give up my kids to my loser, ex-dancer ex-husband if I didn't straighten up. Just kidding. But, I did tell her a few years ago that I had been drinking, and she looked at me the way moms look at their children, with that look - just like that, if a facial expression could have italics - and said simply, "May, don't do that." So, I didn't do that.

Without fail, before my mom and I hang up from a phone conversation, she tells me to be careful. I mean, occasionally there's that part about wanting grandkids and the part about asking when I get to see her next or when I'm finally going to apply for naturalization, but always, she calls me her baby girl and tells me she loves me and to be careful. This woman, who knows the value of hard work and sacrifice and loving her children with every fiber of her being, and with that love overflowing from her pure heart, she always remembers.

This woman, who's given up so much, worked so hard so that I could have a good life in this blessed country, who's always accepted my friends and was always open to my passions, has taught me to stay close to God or find him whenever I may stray from the path, deserves my willing and enthusiastic compliance when she tells me what to do. So I do it, because I love my mom. I do it, because she understands the value of work and diligence and education. She gave me Sesame Street. She's not perfect, but who is? She's the most wonderful woman, such a beautiful woman, the best mom anyone could ever ask or hope for, and I can't imagine my life without her guiding me through it. So, I do it. I do what she says: I am careful. I love you so, so much, Mama. Happy Mothers' Day. 

  

                                      

For all practical purposes, my roommate is a non-practicing Mormon. Just like I'm a non-practicing social drinker. Practice makes perfect. When I was practicing, I got pretty good. Practicing not-practicing is a bit more difficult, but I think I got it down.

Right now my mom is in Long Beach, CA, visiting a cousin. Why she decided not to tell me this, I don't know. It's kind of hard not to lump all the information she withholds, intentionally or without, into the same pile of data regarding my identity, or that of my biological father. Everything is not some big secret. Maybe she thought it's not that big of a deal. But she's staying for two weeks. But it's with a cousin she hasn't seen in 6 or 7 years. But she and Tom were supposed up be up visiting me this week. But they couldn't find a hotel room they could afford. At any rate, I hope she has a good time.

That being said, the reason I'm withholding bits of information right now from the general public is because I don't want it to be (turned into) a big deal. I have a hard enough time already with change, as I'm sure a lot of people do. I would rather tell people one at a time, preferably face to face.

Today's featured Patty Griffin lyric:
Forty years go by with someone laying in your bed
Forty years of things you say you wish you'd never said
How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead
I wonder as I stare up at the sky turning red

I've had some time to think about you
And watch the sun sink like a stone
I've had some time to think about you
On the long ride home...

Headlights staring at the driveway
The house is dark as it can be
I go inside and all is silent
It seems as empty as the inside of me

"Long Ride Home"

The imagery is especially powerful to me. Of course, the music goes perfectly. The whole song is a tight, cohesive story. An incredibly depressing story, yes, but that's exactly why I like it: It's not half-hearted in its bittersweetness. The album is 1,000 Kisses. Put track number 6 under the turntable needle and see what you think.

This weekend is the Church's semiannual General Conference. Eight hours of church, folks. I really delight in coasting on the high these meetings bring.

Tonight, laundry. Maybe some writing between loads. Tomorrow morning, perhaps an 8-mile jog, then brunch at the church, then church. Two-hour break. Then church. Then homework, then sleep. Then church. Then, lunch. Then church.

ETA: 13 years. It's been 13 years since she's seen her cousins. So yeah, I feel a little bit guilty for whining about my mommy not seeing me. She's gonna have a blast.

Sunday, Arly, the other seminary teacher, and I taught an education fireside at a Bishop’s Youth Discussion. I guess it turned out okay. About ten youth came. The leaders seemed to like it. Dinner was served: chili and cornbread, and brownies for dessert. The Bishop and I had a nice chat on my way out to catch the bus. He’s a good man, and I’m glad we’re friends.

Monday was my mom’s birthday. I called her earlier that day, but she wasn’t home. Then I didn’t hear from her the rest of the day. She did leave a message Tuesday thanking me for my message. She sounded tired. That woman works hard. And she has a lot on her mind. I haven’t yet told her about my thoughts on translocating. I’m not sure when that’s going to happen.

Monday night I opened my window and climbed out and up my fire escape to the roof of my building. It was 10PM, and the moon was still ascending the east sky. I have a view of the George Washington Bridge from my roof, and glowing bulbs along the hanging cables outlined its shape. It was practically next to me, as my building is on Fort Washington Avenue and 178th Street. The blinking lights of several airplanes were in the distance, arriving and departing from nearby airports. Some of these lights I mistook for heavenly bodies, until I noticed they were moving. I squinted directly above me to make out the Big Dipper, and not too many other stars were visible because of the city lights. The moon shone more brightly than anything nearby. It had that perfect roundness, and it actually looked real, as if you could touch it, or maybe hold it in your hand. Other times it looks more like a 2-dimensional inlay on a dark page; no captions. Not quite a bulb itself, because it doesn’t produce its own light, but if the surface weren’t so rough it would be a giant disco ball. This time the mountain ranges, craters, and the mouse that thinks the moon is cheese had depth. Maybe it was the refractiveness of the sky, but the combination of a prism and magnifying glass that the sky is seemed to perform at its maximum. It did help that the moon was closer. And, Mars was supposed to have been at its closest to earth in recent history, and then not again for another 10,000 years. I thought I saw Mars. I wish I had a telescope. It was the brightest twinkle, way too big to be a star. I’d stare, and occasionally a red glint would reach my eyes. Then I looked at another twinkle, and a similar redness would spark from it. Then I remembered a lunar eclipse was going to happen early in the morning, and the sky just felt like dispersing red light. I wish I would have stayed up to see the eclipse, but for us East Coasters it would have happened at hours only reasonable for sleep. Once upon a time I would have stayed up for it, or at least set my alarm clock to get up after a few hours. I used to stay up late on school nights and look for shooting stars. I’d look backwards through a camera lens for magnification at the moon. I don’t know why I don’t do that anymore.

Monday night after work, I went to therapy. Good session. I hadn’t been in a month, but I was fine with it. I told the therapist about my plans and everything that has happened in the past 28 days. I fidgeted with one of the pillows on the couch. I fidgeted with the hem on my shirt. I was chewing gum, but I made sure not to be cudding while talking to the therapist. Instead, I chewed during slightly awkward moments of silence. I fidget at every session. Sometimes with my pen or the pages of my journal or the ridges on the cushion. Sometimes I make fists with my hands or I sit on them and stare at the knickknacks and plants on the console. Hee. I sometimes go to therapy for consolation, and the office has a console. I deliberately don’t look at the clock, but sometimes I glimpse at the time on my watch. I maintain eye contact during questions, but most of the time I look away, usually straight ahead.

Tuesday was the last seminary faculty meeting of the summer. We had ice cream and went over the agenda. Attendance. Class structure. Class participation. Before the opening prayer, each of the teachers wrote his/her name on a strip of paper. Someone was supposed to draw a name, and whoever gave the opening prayer was supposed to mention that name in the prayer. Well, they drew my name, and the person conducting asked if I wanted something specific, and the CES coordinator jokingly asked if I had some sins I wanted to repent of. All I asked was for the ability to wake up early. Yeah, some things are appropriate for public prayers, and some are definitely not.

Last night, I went for a run. It was a beautiful evening. I took off around 8 pm. About 72 degrees, slight breeze. It felt wonderful. I was going to go for 5 miles, but I stopped at 4.25 instead. Another ¾ mile wouldn’t have hurt, but I’m a smidge sore in the quads today. Then again, maybe that extra distance would have hurt. A whole lot more. However, it’s likely the soreness will be gone tomorrow. My body is far too familiar with running to be playing the pain game now. If I had tried running 10, that would be a different story.

Tonight, I’d like to go for a jog, then finish packing for my annual Labor Day trip to Maine. The weather has already started cooling off a little bit. Late summer is a bit tricky, because it still is summer – the afternoons can get quite warm – and yet the mornings and evenings require a light jacket. I’ll bring an easily sheddable layer, um, a light jacket.

So, this one’s 999. I won’t jump back on until after the weekend. Have a relaxing and glorious Labor Day weekend, everyone!

51 years ago today, a very significant woman in the world's history was born. She was the ninth out of 10 children in a farmer's family. This was the year a report came out stating cigarettes cause cancer and Roger Bannister broke the 4-minute mile.
50 years ago today, she was probably still learning to walk. I don't imagine her being a large child. Her family worked hard. Her runtish frame seemed to have adapted well to that lifestyle. I doubt anyone in ultra-rural Philippines even knew Disneyland opened this year, or that Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat. It didn't matter that McDonald's was founded. The world was only 10 years removed from the World War, and the Korean War had only begun 5 years previous.
49 years ago today, "terrible twos" was probably the furthest concept from her parents' minds. By this time, she is walking and talking up a storm. With that huge family must have been a lot of chatter and competition to be heard. The eldest five are much older and are probably gone a lot, running errands, tending school; getting into trouble. Velcro made its world debut this year, but who knows how long it would take to reach this family.
48 years ago today, she seemed to be rounding out well as a child. She was a toddler. Heh, I smirk thinking of my mother as a toddler. I dream that she smiled a lot, that her family were close and had no clue or care that Sputnik would mark the space revolution that year.
47 years ago today would have made her four. She actually might have enjoyed a hula hoop. They were invented this year, but it's not likely this family could even afford one for their small army. I imagine they made one from some of the bamboo trees that grew near their home.
46 years ago today probably marked her starting school this year. Some children went to school; others didn't bother. Her siblings continued playing games and tending the farm. These children's games were not fixed, as was discovered about US game shows this year, resulting in a heavy scandal.
45 years ago, she had a year of school behind her. Lasers were invented. This family did well enough to have plenty of kerosene and jars with lids and rags for wicks and matches to make lamps to eat their dinner by.
35 years ago, my mom by this time had discovered the Beatles, and this is the year they broke up. My mom was 16. She had been smoking for 3 years now and had been truant for about 4 years.
30 years ago, she met a US Navy sailor who would marry her and become my dad. She also conceived me this year, but not with the US Navy sailor who would marry her and become my dad. On the other side of the world, Bill Gates up and conceives Microsoft.
29 years ago today, I was 3 months and 7 days old. My mom had a husband who she knew would take care of their new family.
23 years ago today, my little brother was 4 months and 22 days old. Our family was complete. We lived in Guam, and ET phoned home this year.
20 years ago we lived in Key West and experienced some of Hurricane Juan's remnants. My mother read lines with me to practice for the school Christmas play for which I was the leading lady. She helped me memorize my part. She nurtured both halves of my brain, and though she may have heard reports of a hole in the ozone layer and Glastnost and Perestroika, I was completely oblivious.
10 years ago my parents informed me they were having a separation. Big whoop about the Ebola virus and Oklahoma City bombings; the world I knew -- my family unit -- was disintegrating.
9 years ago the divorce became final. My brother and I drove Mom to the bus station so that she could go live with a cousin in California. One of the hardest days of my life. Ever. She changes her mind during the summer and passes through Utah on her bus trip back to Florida. I'm thrilled about my mother meeting the roommates.
The following four years are a big blur to me. My mother and I were roommates for half this time. I'd discover and be reminded how she isn't perfect, but was continually amazed about how she didn't falter in her knowledge of God's love for her.
3 years ago I was driving out to Utah, once again, to start school, once again. Saying goodbye to Mom has always been incredibly hard for me. Mom had just begun dating a man who would become my stepfather.
2 years ago about this time, Mom, Stepdad, and Frank came up to visit. We had a wonderful time. I remember hailing a cab for them when it was time for them to leave. I spent the rest of the day crying at work.
1 year ago today, I was traveling to Chicago. I called Mom that morning to wish her a Happy Birthday. She gave me her regards to relay to Beth and Greg for their wedding.
Mom sends me little cards and t-shirts and calls me at least once a week. She's crazy-worried about my living in New York City all by myself. I try to assure her people here do take care of me. I called her this morning to wish her a happy birthday, and all she could talk about was how excited she was to be sending me a package. That woman has an amazing heart. I am so proud and honored she is my mother. She possesses amazing strength. Really, her biceps are huge. She has a sophistication and sense of femininity I could only wish for. When it comes to her children, there's no stopping her. She gives and loves and sacrifices, and when you think she's run out of energy, she gives and loves and sacrifices some more. She's prideful and stubborn and has one of the coldest shoulders in the Western hemisphere if you make her mad enough. But she's also so beautiful and sincere and can easily bring a smile to your face and restore the hopeful glint in your eye you thought you lost when life discouraged you. She makes me laugh all the time. She listens well. She's my friend. She's resilient. She works harder than anyone I know. I love her, but maybe when I have children of my own, I will understand how intensely and deeply and infinitely she loves me. Only maybe, though. I still have quite a bit to learn just as a human being. Mothers are quite a bit more exalted than us fallen creatures. True mothers really are. God created them that way. Such is my mommy.

Happy Birthday. Your life is an event superseding nearly all else in history. It is unfortunate the world doesn't know this. Eventually, though. You've blessed me and so many others more than you could possibly know. I love you with all of my being.