Back when dirt was new and the world was still in black and white, I was born. About a year later we moved to a 40 acre farm, politely known as the stump ranch. We also had grown-up days in town.
I'm reminded by this card in my mid-40's and 50's I avoided my mother. She was no longer the mother I knew and remembered and it was actually painful to be around her. Now that she is in the clutches of dementia, my real mother is back; in her eyes, in her smiles, in her conversations. I find that exceedingly odd and slightly spooky, but I'll be forever grateful for this small respite with her. But it begs the question. Did she change or did I change?
"Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but...life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves." ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez 1927-