According to Isaac Newton (I call him Mr. Gravity), there are three laws of motion. Two of them -- inertia and acceleration -- are irrelevant here. The third one, however, is driving me to distraction. It’s the one that says for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Forces, you see, come in pairs. … Continue reading : the third law of motion :
Tag: mother’s day
: a motherless mother’s day :
This one is #25 and you know what? They haven’t gotten much easier. Every Mother’s Day is a reminder, as if I needed one; I’m an orphan. No, it doesn’t come as a shock, but it’s an unwelcome reality. So for half of every May, like clockwork, I disappear into myself. I pull in the … Continue reading : a motherless mother’s day :
: the disillusionment :
I’m not a mother or a grown-up. The sum of my experience is as a kid; I’ve been one my whole life. Somewhere around the age of 10, I took a look around and decided to halt the maturing process right there. Irresponsible and heedless suited me better. Therefore, I know a little about the … Continue reading : the disillusionment :
: mother is both a noun and a verb :
It was a school night, well past my bedtime. My dad was on a business trip; my sister and I were sound asleep. I was peacefully dreaming the dreams of a third grader, when my mother laid her hand on my head, ‘Lisa? I don’t want to alarm you, but the fire department is coming.’ … Continue reading : mother is both a noun and a verb :
: here’s to mom :
No, we don’t get to pick our mothers or our children, but it tends to work out surprising well -- almost magically. None of us can imagine a life without our sainted mother. Or, oh, those angelic children. And that’s as it should be. Sappy as it sounds, I lucked out in the mom lottery. … Continue reading : here’s to mom :
: dear old mom II :
A Mother’s Day Series Life with my mother was no walk in the park. It was a stroll through the cemetery. In winter. In blizzard conditions. She so loved an adventure. Every December, like clockwork, she bought wreaths for my grandparents’ graves. Then she’d wait or, let’s be generous, maybe forget they were in the … Continue reading : dear old mom II :
: dear old mom :
She was a grand girl, my mother. Tall and elegant, demure and ladylike, all the traditional superlatives are fitting. But what made her unique, extraordinary, really, was her laugh. It was, whoa, explosive. When something struck her as funny, which it often did, she’d erupt with a whoop. She was helpless against it. Years ago, … Continue reading : dear old mom :
the whirly girl 