foundation

I came across a card that my best childhood friend had written to me upon the death of my mother, years ago. She wrote about coming over to our house and how my mother was always busy doing something, but that her presence was a sense of security. She could always be counted on to share whatever goodies - often chocolate chip cookies from a tin container in the wash-house  or a gigantic tin can of Good's potato chips which resided for some strange reason in a staircase off the dining room, but that she left us to our dreams and schemes without interference.

And that's what I remember about her all my life. She was always there - whether physically or not - and she didn't monitor my dreams and schemes....well I take that back. When we had decided (at 8) to "build" a clubhouse from scraps lumber Dad had scattered all over the second floor of the barn, that dream cane to a crashing halt before it could even reach the gates of Dad! But by and large, she would just smile at our wild ideas, knowing of course which we did not, that they'd never happen.

She was there.

Dad was there.

Presence.

Safety.

Priceless.