29 October, 2020 - My 200th Post to You!
Dear, Mom -
This is my 200th letter to you tonight. It's been 231 days since I've been able to sit with you and hold your hand. It is 231 days too long for me to be without you. I don't like it one bit. I know you don't like it either, but due to the state of the world, it is our only choice albeit it temporarily. I don't want you to be sad. I am only writing this to you because I would say it to you directly if I could. I love being involved in your life. I love having you as my Mom. I am sorry you do not hear from the other kids like you do from me. It makes me angry and disappointed and I wonder why they are distant. When it all comes down to it, though, I want you to know that every day, although I am not with you, you are constantly in my thoughts and always in my heart. I am your youngest daughter and come Hell or high water nothing will ever stop me from being close to you spiritually and across miles. This 200th post is important because I have proven to myself that you are an important priority in my life and that nothing, not time, distance, or a damn virus, will ever be able to severe our bond. You and I have a lifetime of memories together. I want to share some of them with you.
When I was little and started showing an interest in drawing, you were right there to guide me. I distinctly remember the day you taught me a quick and easy way to draw trees. Specifically, conifer trees. You were downstairs working on a painting that had a ridge line of trees. I was watching you use your paintbrush. I marveled at how easy you made it look. You could draw the perfect tree one after the other. I wanted to be able to do that, too. You sat me down next to you and took our a piece of paper and showed me how to do it. And that's the day I learned to draw trees. And every single time I've ever drawn a tree in that style, I always think of that day. I will always draw trees in that style because it is a part of you and a part of me and our artistic mother/daughter bond.
One time, when I was dating Daniel Tvrz, you and Dad were upstairs on the deck with Herb Saager. You were sitting up there chatting about who-knows-what and having margaritas. You and Dad rarely drank to my knowledge. I know this to be true because when we emptied out the liquor cabinet when we moved out of the house, most of the bottles (that were still plenty full) were years to decades old. Anyway, Daniel and I were downstairs probably doing something with our skateboards and you came down from the deck and in through the back, downstairs door. You had the biggest grin on your face. As you walked up to us, you grabbed Daniel by the hands and started waltzing with him! Oh, my did that take him by surprise. He was shy as it was, but to have that kind of attention from you, whirling around and laughing, made him redder that the reddest red! Ha. You just laughed, let him go, and sauntered upstairs. I think you had maybe one more margarita than usual and were feeling a bit giddy. Let me tell you, it still makes me chuckle when I think back to it. It was so out of character for you, but you had let down you guard and were so happy! I love love love that memory.
There was a time when you and I traveled across the United States to Spearfish, South Dakota for Great Aunt Limby's 100th birthday. You were so excited to see family and to be back in the Black Hills. I was so excited because I never traveled and I couldn't wait to see the country out there. It did not fail to impress me. Those rolling hills of grass in the wind looked like waves coming to shore. One after the other. The sky was so big with fluffy, white clouds. The thunder and lightning storms were like nothing I'd ever experienced before. On the way there, you were driving through Lolo Pass in Idaho. I remember driving along the river Lochsa River. You were trying to make up time and were going fairly fast. The tires in the Ford Ranger pick-up truck were screeching around the corners! I couldn't believe it. You were excited and weren't wasting any time. I know I said something and you probably just told me to shush. You drove me to see the Crazy Horse monument, but it was clouded over. We drove through Deadwood during the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, too. Thousands of motorbikes everywhere (most of them Harley-Davidsons). We drove to Alberta, Canada a couple times together to see Nancy and Rob and the kids and that was great fun, too. On one of those trips, we encountered a blizzard. Dad was with us that time. I just know it was very hard to see because the snow was blowing sideways across the road. I don't think we were very far from Morrin, where Nancy lived, and I think we were pretty thankful that we didn't have to drive in those conditions for very long. While I was there, Rob and I skied around the town on cross country skis. That was amazing. Canada is so beautiful.
I could go on and on about so many of the great things we did together. You've always encouraged me to do what I want regardless of the norm. You and Dad were so generous to my friends and I when we played punk rock down stairs. You never complained about the type of music or how loud it was. You just let us do what we needed to do in order to get better. I remember we ended up moving the practice space to a shack out in the country by our friend Emilio's grandmother's house. That way we could play and really not disturb anyone. And because of the persistence and practice, our band played a show in Tri-Cities, Washington in 1987. That was the beginning of many of band and punk show for me. I went on to make records and tour all because you and Dad were so supportive and never discouraging. I
really love and appreciate you both for that. Music is one thing that has unfortunately fallen to the wayside for me. I need to get back to it. It has been 13 years since I have played a show. My band Starved & Delirious got back together a couple of years ago, but the drummer ruined it and our bass player was also in a horrible window washing accident. After that, we called a hiatus, but it just turned into another case of not playing again. I need to get back on that horse and ride! It's such good therapy.
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