Mom was a bird, a little bird with no cares. She sang, she chirped her way through life, unaffected by ‘the cats’ who stalk harmless creatures like sparrows, and doves, singing songs in morning sunshine..in cool spring light. She always lived joyfully..in Jesus; and though stuff happens, no one could take that away, no one could steal her song. Mom! I miss you, I dreamed about you last night. We were through living in this dump, and after twenty-something years we were packing it in, rolling up the carpets. I picked up an old antique table someone had broke the leg off of; and I noticed brush strokes of stain you had applied after sanding, ages ago, and not done too carefully, but with a spirit of lightness and freedom, like the way you lived. And I told these two Mexicans picking through books who I had been telling about Traficant, “Look. My mom did that.” And I was remembering how every moment, whether washing dishes; or pulling weeds or cleaning my messes, you were creating without worry or concern. It was just a natural and easy thing for you to do. And you would sing to yourself and to God..and Dad, too, if he was around; though he was half-deaf from exploding ordnance down in the Philippines during sea battles, days he spent in the navy. It’s too bad it took me so long to just learn to relax a little..we could have had a lot more fun. Together. When we were younger. I recall that time you eased me over the hump with learning to tie my own shoelaces. I miss Mom.