The last time I talked to my Mom, she was dropping me off at an airport. I don't remember the words, exactly, but I assume they were "I love you."
But before that, we were in a drive thru at Sonic, in Coeur d' Alene, ID. I ordered a breakfast burrito w/o sausage.
My father was frustrated with her for some indiscernible reason, but in retrospect I guess it was because she responded too reasonably to a Pagan wedding we had just attended. "It was a lovely ceremony."
That was in the morning, the day before that we had been at the park near the lake, where there were vendors selling goods. She bought me a tub of lotion made of goat's milk that smelled like lilacs. (A few weeks later, Zac's sweet mom bought me chap stick of the same brand, included in a consolation package for her dying.)
Before that, she bought me a brown velvet dress at the antique shop that I really wanted, with an antique lace collar. It reminded me of something I remembered seeing Betsy Ross wearing in a Childcraft illustration. She didn't give it to me right away, because we decided such a generous gift should be saved for Christmas. After the accident I fished it out of a garbage bag of retrieved items, covered in dust from a freeway median in Central Oregon.
I've only worn it once, to a Thanksgiving dinner, where I spilled gravy on it.
Before that she was telling me about the premonitions she had been having. Waking spells, debilitating lapses in reality, where she would see a woman she'd never seen before, but somehow knew that she knew, in a hall.
It happened while she was talking on the phone. She had to pause in a daze, on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, where I would buy the first coffee I decided I would let her see me drink. I regret, and then again don't regret, that she had to see me drink that coffee. But that I may have caused her to feel one ounce of anything unpleasant on our last day together, I don't know what to say.
The premonitions, I looked up after. Possibly a sign of menopause approaching, but possibly, I wonder, if she knew she would go.

Mother's Day:

glad that my young self questioned institutionalized education, tuned out of institutionalized education, was skittish about institutionalized education, didn't care about graduating, and didn't graduate.

also glad, that I tried secondary education on in my later 20's.

and glad that I left it, prematurely, after my young self was validated through immersion in institutionalized education which was confirmed as a hell with a few shiny angels who are also suffering yet reaching.

Hi diaryland.

Cleaning my bedroom at 7:47 AM after two hours of sleep to the strains of a music box, makes me feel like the mildest mad woman.

Yesterday, I was told by members of two distinctly different groups of people when I walked into the room:
"We were just talking about you!"
Me: "uh....uh oh."
Them: "No, about how great you are!"
This is the exact opposite of my experience as a younger person.

It gets better?

1. A Bulldozer
2. Arbitrarily plowing up a Wildflower Meadow