Rock Salt, Memory & My Mother

Visiting my Mama in Maine with the kids, and just finished catching her up to speed on the recent developments in my life these past few weeks (it took hours and not because i’ve had tons of developments).

When i was younger (last year) I used to hate catching up with my mom because she could never really remember what I had told her from the last conversation so there never seems to be a foundation to build off and i seem to start back with the basics every time.


“So I’m doing this new photography project with Robyn called the…”

“Who’s Robyn?”

“Mom! my next door neighbor?!  Robyn!!”

“oh of course, Robyn, and what does she do?”

“She’s the photographer Mom- remember?”  (we’ve had this reminder nothing short of 20 times now in addition to an in the flesh visit with the “missing” photographer herself).

“Oooooh yes… Robyn– that’s right she’s the photographer” and she says this as if to convince herself. I know from years of experience that her minds wheels are spinning for some kind of traction on that treacherously icy slope that is her memory and  it can go on and on like this as I throw down another handfull of rock salt to get her out of the driveway and on to the tarmac of our conversation. Once that engine is warmed up though and we gain some momentum and it’s away weee goooo!

Until the next time. When she has no memory of it.  And we have to start all over.

It makes me crazy cakes.

I love you Mom, but really….

crazy cakes.