Today is my mother’s sixty-sixth birthday.
When I’m asked to describe my mom, I usually can’t come up with anything more precise than, “she’s a whole lot of person.”
She’s a firecracker. She’s dynamic. While she’d like to be a broad, she’s not laid-back enough to be one, and instead falls firmly into the good-time girl category. She has a lot of fun. She’s generous, ethical and honest, and she’s lived in a dozen cities around the world, and is asleep before her international flight takes off. She’s a well-dressed, new millenium product of the 1960’s, her hippie views a bit more pragmatic than they were forty years ago. Her sense of humor and complete lack of gravitas belie her fierce intelligence; she’s had a hand in writing much of the software currently used to keep corporate lending institutions rolling. She likes to curse but is very bad at it, “Holy f**k, honey,” being my all-time favorite. She can’t cook anything without setting off her smoke alarm, and I think this is because she is opposed to using the “low” setting on anything in her life. She is rarely still. I have never heard my mother be rude, leading me to believe that ungraciousness is only for those who lack strength of spirit and character.
Happy birthday, Mom! I love you.