Mother was someone who did not enjoy life; she fretted about every little thing and, frankly, she made me nervous. I don’t suppose she wanted to be that way, and maybe she wasn’t when I wasn’t around – although I am pretty certain about the not enjoying life thing. Maybe if everything had always been perfect in her mind, she would have liked life. Ironically, I think it was only in her final few years that she drew closer to the position of maybe she wanted to stay around and not miss out on what was in the future.

I don’t say this to complain, honestly. It is just a matter of fact.

Yesterday when I was mowing, I caught the very edge of a large, strong tarp that was covering one of the woodpiles. I’ve been successful at avoiding it all season and I was surprised when it happened. The mower made an awful sound and the engine stopped. I thought, “Oh, crap.” And, I think I remember a wisp of a thought in the deep recesses of my brain – Thank God Mother’s dead.  Otherwise the sky would have been falling.

I got it started and drove forward and of course the tarp followed me; I backed up, it stayed with me. Suddenly, in some dimension I knew we were joined at birth. I drove into the shade, got off and found a utility knife and pliers and put myself prone on the ground by the blades. The utility knife was hopelessly dull; the tarp was twisted all around  . . . and I was enjoying myself.

I had been at her grave earlier yesterday and remember saying “I’m sorry, Mother.” And I am. Sorry, I guess, for being me.

I’m not sorry I enjoyed the little incident and the comic story possibilities I could see as I lay there tugging and twisting on the ground . . . but I do feel a little guilty about it. I shouldn’t have hit the tarp; but I did. And I have to admit I am glad I won’t hear, “Don’t suck up the tarp” the next time I mow – although somewhere in my mind I will.

Mother did a lot for me, but I wish we could have just once made lemonade.