Simply referred to as mommy. I do not know why I never graduated to the simpler, one-syllable form, mom. She has been my mommy for 58 years. She took up residence here in California after her migration from Mexico. Guadalajara, to be exact. Maybe it was the street signs and names of towns that appealed to her. After all, we have San Diego, Santa Ana, Santa Monica, etc., that bring a certain measure of comfort to a newly arrived immigrant whose native tongue is Spanish. My mommy is a hard worker. She listened and learned. Eventually, English took on a less intimidating, less imposing figure.
Mommy and I have been sparring partners more than once. She sees things her way, and I see things my way. We have been through some tricky maneuvers. We both love the colors yellow and green. She loves books — I love books. She is an artist and she uses oil paints to create paintings worthy of art shows. I have a number of her creations in my home. She dances — I dance. The beach is a shared passion. We were both troubled by bad skin in our early years. She knew what it felt like to have her beauty compromised. She took me to a dermatologist. People have been known to say that she and I look identical. That’s fine by me. She has modeled femininity. In fact, she
set the standard.
When the tide comes in mommy is not so inclined to run, jump, skip in it anymore. She has lived 87 years with mixed outcome. Some highs, and the inevitable lows. Life. We love the matriarch. Her imprint is left in the sand. Not to wash away.
Okay, so you are in a dance recital number that is known as a hat routine, meaning you show up with the prop you will use as you dance — the hat. But, among the six ladies in the routine, you are the only member who forgot the hat. You perform without it to a sold-out audience of friends, family, and a lone personality who got caught in the rain and ducked into the theatre for refuge. The thing is, why did you forget the important component in a hat number? Hello! Were you hoping no one would notice? The dancer to whom I refer is 5 feet 11 inches tall! She is all arms and legs! The choreography includes holding on to the hat and raising it above our heads in a circle. So, the imaginary hat went above her head duplicating those dancers’ movements where hats, rightly so, were visible. Come on people, let’s get it together. Props are integral to life in general. Once I drove all the way down our 2-lane highway 20 miles before I noticed my purse was missing from the front seat. Aargh! I had left this important “prop” on my bed! I drove an uncharacteristic, excruciatingly slow 51mph all the way home. I couldn’t afford to be a highway patrol casualty. My duplicate purse “prop” with requisite driver’s license copy (I owe my DMV friend big time) now occupies a corner of my car on a 24/7 basis.
Our mail carriers come in both genders. They serve as my best friends. They rarely disappoint. Well, there was the time I was expecting my paycheck and it didn’t arrive till two days later. The mail carrier redeemed himself, when on the day my check did arrive, a coveted package from Amazon accompanied it. We have a female counterpart to the male carrier (no pun intended). They share a commonality beyond their profession. They are both Cambodian. They both arrived here in the States a generation after a nasty altercation in neighboring Vietnam. They arrived ready to deliver our mail! Neat! They are both hard workers. Maybe to suggest that they are hard workers AND Cambodian is redundant. I don’t think there are many of us who envy the job of the mail carrier. Remember that refrain? Rain or shine, snow or sleet, we deliver your mail! Kudos to the mail carrier.