You, Me and Mom

Remember how you always said that my tastes would change? You used to love your tomato sandwiches and I never understood how you could like them on their own! I declared that I would never like tomatoes, but guess what–I do! I now know what you meant when you said there was nothing better than a fresh tomato sandwich with cheese and lettuce.

I know, I know – you disapprove of my “Joy” tattoo. I am just decorating my temple! If I were telling you this in person, you’d say “Oh Amy” in a disapproving tone. But you couldn’t stay mad at me for long. Then I would make dumb jokes about pop culture to wind you up. I’d probably tease you about Harry Potter and you’d say it’s evil stuff. Then I’d try to convince you to read one!

I have inherited something from you. Singing Tourette’s! If somebody mentions something that reminds me of a song I know, I’ll burst out into song. Sometimes I don’t even know that I’m doing it – just like you.

You always said to be good to my mother and that she’d be my best friend someday. I used to be pretty horrible to her sometimes and I always thought it was annoying when you said it, but it’s becoming more and more true. I find myself emulating her all the time. You learn a lot from your mother and mine had a good teacher!

We didn't know it had a steep drop, but our reactions were great!

The other day I was putting mascara on and I remembered the first time I ever used it. It was before church, at your apartment. I must have been about 12. You taught me how to use the wand and I put an undetectable amount of mascara on but I felt like a princess nonetheless!

Those were the best, the lazy Sunday afternoons at your apartment. I’d go with you to Swiss Chalet after church and then we’d relax at your apartment. I’d help myself to your gumball machine and the vintage toys you had and you’d do a crossword puzzle. Then we’d go for a swim and watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman or Touched by an Angel. Afterwards you’d blow-dry my hair and tell me about how your mom used to do your hair in ringlets. Then you’d make me a simple dinner of poached eggs on toast with tea and honey.

I think of you every time I fold a fitted sheet, eat pickles and cheese, hear a Scottish accent or see a mountain landscape painting.

I miss you lots.

Love,
Amy