Our mother died young, out in the lonely middle of Montana, when my sisters also were quite young.
One of them just asked me by email if I remember any Mother’s Day in particular. I cannot, after all these years. All I could think to say was that I always enjoyed being in her company.
I wish there had not been such hardship. But she put joy in every day.
*Note on the cover photograph, showing my mother bathing my youngest brother near a stove, cooking utensils and food stuffs: This was a trailer or the equivalent in Iowa City, Iowa, about 1955, and I don’t think it had running water. I believe we walked down the road to what I remember as a laundry building for running water needs. I’m sure my mother, who grew up in a neat and tidy home in Granville, Ohio, was careful about sanitation. As we soon moved up in the post-World War II married student housing world to a Quonset hut in a place called Hawkeye Village, which featured indoor plumbing. Actually, one of the first things that always catches my eye in the 1955 photograph is my mother’s trusty copy of the Better Homes and Garden cookbook.