Mother's Day

I'm feeling a little slow, started writing this on Saturday.

A friend whom I haven't seen socially in ages, sent out an invitation to hang out for Opening Day of Boating season on the Montlake Cut.  She goes every year (she used to row), but I've never made it.  (And as an aside, my college bf and family were always super excited about opening day.  I remember going to a party at someones condo to celebrate, though we never actually went to go watch any boats, and while near the water, there was no view of the races nor the parade.  But there was a party all the same.  Always liked his family.)

I was late setting out.  In my odd thought processes, stressing out about what to bring (snack-wise.) Settled on a cake.  While in the grocery store, toyed with the idea that being there was probably more important than bringing something, and that chips or hummus would also have sufficed, and then I wouldn't actually be late, but then decided that I needed to make something.

Anyway, was late arriving.  Walked the full length of people, one side of the cut to the other, but saw no sign of them.  (Seriously, I need to get phone numbers in my phone.)  It was a lovely morning for a walk, bright sun but cool in the shade, festive.  Took one final detour down a wood-chipped path, thinking, "well, even if I don't find them, it got me down here for the first time in ages, and I'm enjoying it," when I looked down to see a child, scrambling up the steep hillside below me, hanging onto a metal pipe, who looks at me and says "Hello."  It is my friend's child.  So, I make my way back around, using the stairs rather than the hillside, he is more fearless about such things than I, and I find them, overlooking the canal, plenty of room.  There were just a couple races left, plus the parade of boats.

And whenever I have to get up early to cook something, I think of my mother, waking up before dawn to bake a cake or cupcakes or make food for a potluck.  Staying up late to sew me some part of an outfit for Brownies. Curling my long hair in rollers, and having me sit under one of those dryers, to make my often tangled hair look good for school pictures.  It's the thing that stands out the most for me now for some reason.  It humbles me.  It's a quiet kind of mother's love, done when no one is looking.