If my legs aren’t long is no
see how long. a crowd.
—Susie Timmins
My mother cannot walk
the way she used to,
perhaps like most of us.
And I haven’t been able
to afford to get her a
ticket to visit me
in something like five
years. When she’d
visit regularly, she
seemed to really
love it (Who wants
to travel constantly
back to Arkansas from
San Francisco? Especially
when one’s first trip
abroad
was at 40 [and to Paris!!]);
we’d walk up and down
the
hills in the City of the Seven
Hills. Or, in more recent
visits, we’d hold soirees
for her in the apartment
(the one in which I'm currently
sitting). Anything could act
as an excuse to have one
(e.g.,
"Hey, everybody, Mom's
here!").
We'd taxi often
to brunches,
lunches, dinners,
and suppers.
And there
was always the "day
trip" — often to
Sonoma and
Calistoga. Or down south
for some fresh
strawberries,
gotten roadside, over
which
she never tired of
swooning.
