I think she had a delightful time here. I did too.

The feelings I experience around my mother are big and shimmery and slippery and sharp. Very sharp. I’d like to write through those feelings in such a way she could read it and see my perspective. She’s very fond of words.

But that would be impossible

I don’t think she believes I have a perspective. I think I’m a kind of magical automaton to her, and maybe I’m getting a little too thick around the waist.

Yesterday we went to an old friend’s book launch. My mother bought me the book and the writer, my friend, signed it. I should have bought my own book and waited on line myself.

Live and learn, you know?