How does the Chicago font come across? From this end, it looks really cold. Like damp, chill you to the bone cold. It also looks a little crazy reminiscent of my childhood. This f-ing weather is giving me flashbacks of standing outside, on the corner, freezing my ass off in what seemed like pre dawn waiting for the obnoxious, yellow school bus to drive me to what felt like a prison sentence every day.

This is a short conversation I had with my mom ten minutes ago before I took a shower.

C: What’s the big soup pot full of scummy water doing in your shower.
M: Well the toilet is doing a weird thing and (leaks? flushes? I can’t remember what she said) every two hours. So instead of flushing it, I just pour that water in it.

Here’s another while we were in the garage organizing things for the garage sale.

C: Do you want me to bring the big box of greeting cards out?
M: No, they won’t sell.
C: Should we throw them out?
M: No, save them for the next garage sale in August. (The neighbor lady has epic garage sales that my mom likes to piggy back onto)

I know, from years of experience, that in that last conversation my mom was overwhelmed and didn’t want to deal with what I was saying at the moment. She just said some random thing to try to get me off her back. But this is the way she communicates. This is the opposite way I try to communicate. I have a very strong feeling that words mean things. You don’t just throw them around. I think I have such a strong opinion on this because of being raised dealing with this kind of communication, among other wordly slaughter.

A few weeks ago she sent out cards to all of her close family and asked in lieu of mother’s day presents that we all write some nice things to put in her obituary. No need for me to comment of the request, she’s a kooky lady, we all know it. I started writing some stuff, but I’m having a really hard time. I asked her what she wanted to be remembered for and she said, “her kids”. If she really meant it, phew, that gets me off the hook. I’m really good at writing about myself.

Alright, I’m working on it. But, if any of you have some good stuff that you want to write about your mom and then send to me so I can plagiarize, ummmm, I mean, study for style, let me know, I’d appreciate it. Unless, “Helene: She was a different kind of lady. She had moxie. Some say her kids were pretty cool” would cut it.