I woke up this morning and was treated to breakfast (waffles no less) by Hope and Glo. I don't require much for Mother's Day -- I told Mark to take back the diamonds he had surely bought for the occasion -- except for a break from cooking and cleaning up. I actually enjoy cooking but it's really nice to be the Princess for a change. Once a year, I get to spread out the Sunday papers, have my morning mocha and let someone else cook. Yummy waffles, girls. Thank you.
I forgot to pickup marigolds this week, my annual Mother's Day tribute to my mom. It was not unusual to find Mom in the garden and we had a variety of plants but, for some reason, I remember marigolds. When I catch the scent of marigolds at the nursery, I picture mom with a flat of the puffy little bronze flowers, on her knees in the back yard. I try and pick up a six-pack or two to plant on Mother's Day. This year they'll be a bit late.
My mom, Aggie Limandri, was the youngest of nine kids born to the Goettlichers in Eau Claire, Wisconsin -- five of which had come over from Austria with my grandmother in 1910; I still haven't found the manifest from my grandfather's earlier trip but I haven't given up. My mom and her friends would often take Sunday drives and take pictures of each other in their new outfits. Seems odd but I'm grateful I have so many pictures like these...that's her on the right, cuttin' up with "Beets and Art". Seeing nicknames like "Beets" written in my mom's hand, make me smile every time I go through these pictures. We lost Mom to Alzheimer's a few years ago but Mother's Day is still hers.