SUNDAY, MAY 11, 2015


Mother’s Day is a remembering Day.  Today I’m thanking God for my mother whose love, laughter, and love hover over me day by day.  Mama loved to tell stories and she was at her best when she knew she had a rapt audience, like when she squirmed away out of being fined by the Georgia State Patrol for speeding.
Then I remember the two sons God and Claude gave me.  Max was already twelve when Claude and I married.  One of my favorite stories about Max center around the times when Claude and I were dating.  He loved to holler out “shot gun” when we got into the car, meaning he sat nearest the door.
I’ll never forget when the two of us met.  He was barefooted and engrossed in eating a big hamburger loaded with french fries.  He was also reading a comic book and said nothing until his father prompted him to be sociable.  The years have knitted us together and I’m proud to claim my Key West druggist as my son.
Don’t get me started on my birth son Alan or this could turn into a lengthy blog.
He started walking exactly when he was 10 months old and by 1 1/2 years had a good size vocabulary.  He was good at expressing his likes and dislikes.  Gerber’s green beans were splattered all over the kitchen floor.  He learned some lessons by trial and error: ovens are hot; he should no and when Mama said, “If you throw that pacifier out the card window one more time you aren’t going to get another one’t explore under the kitchen sink; he liked to eat play dough and raw cookie dough; when Scot  Fillers tried to take back his birthday gift to Alan the two of them had a tug of war and Mason tenacity won the tug of war.