For the lady who was 20 on the day Martin Luther King was shot

That was the title of a poem I wrote for my mom on her birthday in.. hmm.. 1993 or '94.
So, yeah, today is my mom's birthday. I will be calling her later when I am done stuffin muffins for the day.

My mom and I have had some differences, but she's always been right there to back me in whatever bizarre plan I was cooking up. She is totally thrilled I have a radio show. She's thrilled I'm involved in the Blues Society thing and I am hoping I can get her to come up here for the festival. I think she's thrilled I made it through my 20s in one piece and with all my brain cells intact. She's thrilled I'm back in school. I miss her a lot. But of course when I go to visit we drive each other bananas and we are both relieved when I'm gone.

My mom gave me my sense of humor. Best. Gift. Ever. We were recently discussing our favorite house that we lived in on Gaffey St in San Pedro, across the street from Ft Mac. In a gorgeous two-story built in the 20s, with wood floors, built ins, a solarium, a service porch, giant gas range, giant kitchen, breakfast nook... we loved that place. It's an art gallery now.

So mom, I don't know if you still come by here to my little mostly-unknown-blabbering-place, but..

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes!