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That’s the phrase I heard from my mother in cross-country phone greeting throughout my adulthood, ad nauseam. I don’t know why it annoyed me so much, except that my mother annoyed me. Maybe I never felt free to say, “I am not feeling smiley today. I AM NOT SMILING TODAY!” It’s who she wanted—needed—me to be.

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There’s a new post on Daughter on Duty.

Mama’s memory is on the decline. Of course memory loss is gradual for all of us, but in old age it seems to drop, plateau, repeat. Over the past five years in close proximity with her, at first I noticed it occasionally and in tiny ways. Then more often. Then occasionally Rebecca or I would say, “Wow, she didn’t remember that?” Then there were more of those episodes.

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We have arrived at the longest day. We will take a breath tonight, to boast and toast with friends around a fire, weave flowers into our hair and dance. Tomorrow we turn our steps to the journey back toward the shortest day. I’m wondering, as I turn into my 66th year today, how my life might be different at the winter solstice.

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It was a big week. Mama did a 40-hour tour of duty in the ER and hospital with Rebecca and me as ’round-the-clock support staff. Forty-eight hours post discharge we celebrated her 101st birthday with family, a few old friends, several fellow residents at the Manor, and cupcakes and musical guests.

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It’s a milestone summer: 65, Medicare, 5 years back here on the hill, the beginning of my new business venture, a new driver’s license with—goddess willing—a photo of myself I can stand to look at for the next five years (I’ll let you know next week). I celebrated the beginning of the season by opening up the sky.

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Five years ago today I pushed my keys across the attorney’s conference table to the young couple who sat on the other side. The attorney passed me a check. The sweet bungalow with the gardens I restored—a mission of love that brought new life to more than the garden—had been mine for five years. And now not mine for five years.

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New post on Daughter on Duty.

In observance of Memorial Day, here is one of the 500 letters my father wrote to my mother during their three and a half year of separation during World War II…. On the troop ship, he wrote her three letters about his experience crossing the Atlantic, to be kept until the war was over and censorship was lifted. Here is the first.

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