May 12, 2002

Yesterday, Laurie and I drove to Buffalo to see my mother and my aunt, and to deliver some chocolates and cards for Mother's Day.

We saw my mother in the morning. She smiled as we approached, recognizing us as familiar, and we sat down in the lounge to visit. She held her card, admired the tulips on the front, and then looked inside. I helped her read the words. She said, "A holiday for mothers... who is your mother?" And I said, "You are." And she replied, "How nice." I thought so too.

In the afternoon, we saw my mother's sister, my Aunt Rhea. We followed the numbers down the hall, looking for her room. And then I saw her, sitting in a wheelchair. "Aunt Rhea," I said. "Yes," she replied. "I'm Kihm, your nephew." And her face lit up and she said, "Kihmmie!" I smiled. "You've grown so tall," she said. I beamed. We sat and talked. She asked if I knew how her mother, my grandmother, was doing. Grandma died 35 years ago, but the look in her eye was so hopeful that I said, "Well, I haven't seen her for a long time." Laurie, who is a daily connoisseur of my evasions, rationalizations and spin jobs, thought this was an exceptional effort. And it seemed to satisfy Aunt Rhea.

When we arrived home in Skaneateles, Laurie had e-mail from her mother, visiting with Laurie's sister and niece in Virginia. And while we were waiting for the pizza guy, the phone rang. It was Abbie, calling from Ecuador to wish her mother a happy Mother's Day a day early, because she was going out with her host family today. I was very proud of her.

And then on our way to church this morning, we drove by a pond and saw a mother goose with about six wonderfully fuzzy brown goslings. Brand new, in their mother's care. Mother's Day indeed.