 |
| December 3, 2011 |
|
 |
|
Ignoring
Clint Eastwood's advice in "Dirty Harry" that
opinions, like certain body parts, are best kept to
yourself.
| Remembering
Mom on my birthday |
 This
week, I turned 68 years old, and it was without a lot of
notice or excitement. My wife was down in St. Paul helping
my daughter get ready for a birthday party for my
granddaugher Gabrielle with the neighborhood kids, we share
the same date, many years apart. So, I spent my day doing
what I normally do, working on my website, making phone
calls to buyers and sellers of airplanes, checking the snail
mail and email, letting the dogs out, letting the dogs in,
watching television, and fiddling on this or that household
project.
My parents both died many years ago, but
there is never a day I don't think about them, and
especially my mother when my birthday rolls around. When I
was born in 1943, my dad was in the South Pacific, fighting
in the second great war, and my mother was home in Sioux
Falls, South Dakota. I didn't see my dad until he came home
in 1945, and I only knew him as a photo in my grandparent's
home. So, my mother and I were a team alone for the first
couple of years of my life.
Fast-forward about 20
years, and I'm now in my 20's, out of school and working,
and December 2nd is coming up on the calendar again. A woman
in my office had just gotten some flowers from her
boyfriend, and all the other ladies were making a big fuss
over them. And, it was at that moment I thought "I'll
bet my mother would like to have flowers, I'll send her
some." Back in 1964, it wasn't so easy to just call
anyone on the phone, I remembered the name of the florist in
my hometown, and with the help of the operator I dialed them
up. The florist knew my parents, and said that roses would
be nice, a dozen of them for about $8 as I recall. This was
before credit cards, but the lady told me to just drop a
check in the mail, which I did, and the roses would be
delivered the next day, on my birthday. The card read "Remembering
you on my birthday".
I had no idea what a
tradition I had created. The next day, my phone at work
rang, it was my mother, telling me how beautiful the roses
were, and how much she appreciated them. I don't think I
ever heard her so excited about anything. From then on,
until mom passed away in 1985, the florist delivered a dozen
roses to her every December 2nd.
A few years after
I'd started this ritual, I was out in a boat fishing with my
dad, and he said "By the way, don't ever forget to send
mom those roses on your birthday, you can't imagine how she
looks forward to getting them". "That's all she
talks about for days before, and when they arrive, she gets
on the phone and calls her sisters to tell them how
beautiful they are."
That was a good reminder,
and as disorganized as I can be sometimes, that annual phone
call to the hometown florist, who also had it on her
calendar, was always made.
Global
Air Aviation Referral Service
I welcome
responses, and will be glad to post them here. Email your
remarks to
ron@global-air.com |
|
|
Most
Recent Editorial
Recent
Global
Air Links:
 |
