My mother was sad. Why, I don’t know. I can only guess that she did not recognize herself anymore. From posh boarding school in North Carolina, sorority girl at SMU, to whirlwind romance with the man chosen by her mother. It seems the stuff of fairy tales. Then the move to a wide spot in the road, three kids in four years, and a husband who worked all the time. All by the ripe old age of 26. I’m only guessing…..
But my mother was sad, and because she was sad, we were sad too. She sought solace in books and so did we. We had library cards from the time I can remember. We would pile into the car and head down to the library on White Station Road. Henry Huggins, Ramona Quinby, Ellen Tibbits, Pippi Longstockings, Harriet the Spy. These were our friends and we delighted in their adventures. It’s hard sometimes to believe that my brother, sister and I grew up in the same home. We are such different people now. But we all still love to read and for that I thank you, Mom.
Just Passing Through 
And you are an incredible writer.
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Your mom gave you a wonderful gift and you are giving her a wonderful thank you.
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