Happy Birthday Mom!

A Birthday Wish

May your day be filled with visits

From family and friends;

May your house o'erflow with laughter

and joy that knows no end;

May the day be bright and sunny,

and the weather perfect too.

May you do all kinds of fun things

That we know you love to do;

May the bread you break at dinner

Be with those who love you most.

May this be a year of happiness ~

it's to your health we toast !

Sure wish I could come see you today, but I won't be able to. I saw Deb this morning and I know she and Jan are coming to visit, so I am content to wish you a wonderful day knowing that they will be there and take you out for dinner. Its good that you will be able to spend time with the two of them and John and Jimmy and Dad of course. Any more of us coming home than that and your head will spin!



In place of my being there, thought I would share a small memory of one of my favorite times with you. Just my absent way of saying how much I love and appreciate you.

Of an evening when I was young, after the dinner dishes were washed, dried and tucked back into their cupboards, after the kitchen floor was swept and the pots and pans all wiped dry, after the laundry was folded and set on the stairs for taking up, after the sun had snuck beyond the horizon and twilight blotted the sky with stars, after we kids were done fooling around and done with horseplay, you would wander in the direction of the living room, book in hand, and call us to sit with you on the couch.

At first we would protest, because we knew it meant bedtime was approaching. AND we knew you would hand one of us a comb and ask us to comb your hair while you read to us. I never understood the significance of that until I was grown, but now I realize what an important part of the bedtime ritual that was.

We would climb up on the sofa where you sat with your legs tucked under you and snuggle as close as we could - to 'see the pictures' we always said, but the books you read us had become more text and less graphics. There we gathered, one closely knit clump of nodding heads and bright eyes, silently breathing - or holding our breath - and you would begin.

Chapter One

or Chapter Two

or wherever we had left off the night before. We struggled through the antics of the Sugar Creek Gang, the woes of Little House on the Prairie, the mischief of Joy Sparton, the escapades of the Bobbsey Twins and characters too numberous to recall. You would read an entire chapter, then ceremoniously close the book and we would all yell and plead for 'just one more, please!'

You usually relented and read another, then another until your throat was so parched you would finally shoo us off to bed. I don't really remember half of what you read to us. It was purely soothing to hear the singsong pitch of your voice and share the comfort of our collective body warmth, and know that we had full tummies and clean beds awaiting us.

And incidentally, you instilled in us all a love of reading that stays with us today. We all have our favorite genres and series that we follow. Sometimes I read what my siblings are reading, just to recapture that sense of togetherness we had back in the days when we were all young and the world was still an exciting, inviting and friendly place.

I read to my own children when they were young. They loved it as much as I did. I hope they will read to my grandchildren. It is a wonderful gift you gave all of us. It has benefitted us for many years, and will continue to impact the family lineage long after we are gone.

Thanks for doing that. Sometimes I just want to go back to being a girl of ten, cuddled on the couch after dinner, hearing you recount some author's vision of the world, and know it will bring a good night.