Our friends Pat and Keene were out of town when Mom and Dad visited us in Fort Davis in February, when Mistah and I threw a party so everyone could meet them. (We also made brisket, but that’s a different story). Keene missed the party, but he heard about it: when we saw him, back in town, a week ago, he said to me, “I hear your mom’s a knockout.”
“I hear your mom's a knockout.” What better compliment is there to hear about your mom?
Mom is a knockout. She’s beautiful, she’s game, she’s fun, and she’s so incredibly supportive it’s almost embarrassing. Except it’s not embarrassing. It’s the best thing in the world.
Dad’s great, too, of course. Dad’s The Man. But this isn’t Father’s Day, is it? And, I have a feeling Dad would maybe take one or two less trips a year if it wasn’t for Mom. . .
Because Mom and Dad didn’t just visit us in godforsaken, farflung Far West Texas. Mom and Dad went to Chicago for Easter a few weeks later, and got to hang with a couple of their other daughters, and a few grandchildren while there.
Then they went to Boston the following month, to see a few more grandchildren, and another daughter or two – one who ran a really really long road race… for fun!
They were in Asheville pre-Christmas – a daughter needed them, to be there for her kids, after all – and in San Diego earlier in 2007 (yes, they are tragically, criminally, overdue to visit their San Diego daughter and grandkids again; just ask Jacquie).
And of course, they pop in to New York City when the mood hits them. Another daughter there, afterall. And they don’t have to babysit when they're in New York. . .
The main thing is, Mom rocks.
Mom loves Mitre Peak:
She’s great to have an afternoon beer with: