Well, I happen to know that Mama wanted that particular spatula, so that’s what I got her. Some women want jewelry for Mother’s Day. Some women want flowers. Some women want spatulas.
Family Mother’s Day at my parents’. David made salmon. Jessamyn picked up fresh French bread. Cullen was in charge of photography. Sabrina brought the first cherries of the season. We ate outside on the deck. In addition to the spatula, I found a Mother’s Day card that was two by three feet.
Lots of driving involved by all, Jessamyn an hour from San Francisco, Sabrina and David, two hours each way from Sacramento to Napa and back.
But I got the driving prize with 414 miles from Manhattan Beach.
So nice to see people I can hug so seldom.
And then, seemingly almost before we had time to catch up, everyone scattered, Jessamyn back to prepare for the work week, Sabrina, David, and Cullen back to evening plans.
I’m lucky to be able to stay over at Jessamyn’s little house in Napa. I cherish the keys she gave me for my birthday last year and of course use them only with permission.
She’s done a great job fixing up the little house, raised the ceiling, redone the foundation, rebuilt the garage, and gotten adorable furnishings. I schlepped everything in–three loads from the car, how can one person need so much?— and collapsed into the bed.
But this morning as I was preparing to visit my folks, I couldn’t find the house keys to lock up.
Not in my purse.
Not on the chair inside the front door.
Not on the little table in the bedroom.
They have to be here, I started to panic. I got myself in last night.
And then it occurred to me one last place they could be: