~ from Jill


My mother came to visit, and spent almost two weeks here. We zipped around South Florida visiting local attractions, the wildlife refuge and beach. We browsed Borders bookstore, watched DVD’s, and ate box after box of semi-sweet non-pareils. In the mornings we sat in our nightgowns and drank tea in over-sized coffee cups, watching what birds would arrive and wade in the lake.

Grocery shopping together, I felt a wave of happiness to have her here. Only when my mom comes, I realized, do we buy top sirloin steak, real maple syrup and tomatoes on the vine (also multiple tins of tea, and dark-chocolate biscuits). There is a casual extravagance I don’t get in my daily life so far away from her, and I miss it. There is comfort and familiarity in knowing each other well, and I miss that too.

One evening we made a run to a Cuban bakery, and five minutes before closing filled two pink boxes full of guava tarts, sponge cake and tapioca pudding. We tried bites of each before deciding the vanilla éclairs were best, and had to discard some delicacies later when no one else was brave enough to try them

She decorated, and re-decorated my house, arranging shells and bits of ribbon in trays, hanging a mobile of abalone disks by the window. She took an abandoned white (decorative) tree, and tied bits of blue ribbon and sparkly bird ornaments to its branches. She repositioned my picture frames, and bought and hung a mirror surrounded by white shells near our front door. Everything seemed to look better with her touch.

The last day of her visit, she dug a labyrinth in the dirt of our side yard (formerly a weed patch). I had been talking about wanting to make one for months, but didn’t know where to start. My mom, of course, just turned on the hose, stepped in the center, and started digging. She enlisted help from the boys, and made a mound in the middle, cupping her hands. The three of them placed an abalone shell on top, and tucked white and jade-colored stones in a spiraling path.

When it was finished, everyone was filthy but ecstatic. “And if it washes away with the next rain,” she laughed, “it will be like one of those Buddhist sand Mandalas.”

It has rained several times since she left, but nothing, not one part has washed away.