Word To (My) Mother

My mother is an artist.

This is true first and foremost in her temperament; she is never happy unless she is engaged in a project that allows her to create and express.  She pours her soul into everything she does, and constantly experiments and tries new things.

Not all of those experiments were successful (if truth be told, the most memorable are the more spectacular failures,) but she was never discouraged.  No matter how badly a project may have ended, she would continue to experiment and take risks.

But when I say she is an artist, I also mean that quite literally.  She has tried her hand at a myriad of forms of artistic expression from watercolors, oil paints, pencil sketching, photography, stained glass (tink tink tink...) and metal work.  She has made money at many of them, including doing work as a calligrapher, cake decorator and wedding photographer.

And like many artists, my mother is a very sensitive person.  I have learned to be very careful what I say about her in a public forum such as this one, for she bruises easily, like a nectarine.  An artistic nectarine with a highly mercurial sense of humor.

So for Mother's Day, I am not going to launch into a cynical diatribe about how the holiday has been corrupted by the greeting card industry (although the woman who first conceived of the idea later denounced what it had become.)  Nor will I regale you all with hilarious tales of some of her more ridiculous escapades (although seriously, those stories are awesome.)

No, instead I am going to be boring and talk about why my mom is great (and consequently better than your mom, because it is MY blog, not yours, so nyah.)

I realize that everyone does this kind of sappy thing, where they talk about how their mother took care of them when they were sick, and how their mom makes the best (fill in name of ethnically-appropriate comfort food,) or how their mom was a rock in the storms of life.

But I'm not going to talk about that crap because my mom didn't do all that crap.  You know why?  Because that crap is boring.  And if there's one thing you can say about my mom (without getting an angry phone call,) it's that my mom has never been boring.

While your mom was teaching you how to fold sheets, my mom was taking me to Mexico to see mummies.  While you learned good habits about housekeeping and home economics, I was learning how to look at a pile of discarded coffee cans and air conditioning conduit and see the basis of a sweet robot costume.  While your mom was explaining the best ways to freeze leftovers, mine was introducing me to Edgar Rice Burroughs, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, J.R.R. Tolkien, Frank Frazetta and Robert Heinlein.

I mean, I'm sure she taught me all that other stuff about brushing my teeth and eating my veggies and crap, but I don't remember any of that.  I remember her taking us out to try new cuisines (before such experiences were commonplace, when there weren't ethnic restaurants on every other corner in South Florida.)  I remember her teaching us about art by handing us a brush and letting us go to town.  And I remember taking trips and ignoring the touristy crap you are expected to see, and instead checking out the museums, restaurants, and historical sites, because that was were the substance was, not on the postcards.

My mother takes the blame for many of my flaws, (she's not known for her punctuality, for example,) but she is also directly responsible for a whole lot of what makes me awesome (humility is another of those things your mom taught you while mine was taking me to scuba diving lessons.)

My mom is why I am a writer, my mom is why I paint (and have started sculpting,) minis, and my mom  is why I know the Owl and the Pussycat from memory.

So for this Mother's Day, I want to send out this message of love and gratitude:  "My mom is better than yours, because she made me."

And I can't think of higher praise than that.