Mom

I talked to my mom this morning and she told me all about the flowers she’d been planting and the flowers she was going up to my grandma’s to plant.  I told her about the Friday Night Flood here, when the creek overran its banks and came down through the yard and overturned concrete blocks and swirled across the garage floor and left creeky flotsam in the front yard and mysterious high water marks on the doors.

And she asked me if we had hummingbirds yet and I said I hadn’t seen any, but none of the flowers I have planted that are supposed to attract hummingbirds  are even more than a few inches tall.  They have feeders out, but they haven’t see any yet.

And she asked me about the turkeys and I said I hadn’t seen them yet and she offered up that maybe it was turkey season.  I told her that we needed to get a copy of what season it was when, because there’s almost always gunfire around here and it’d be nice to know when we need to call the cops.

And she said, “Yes, it turns out wives and mothers are out of season right now.  Kids?  It depends upon their weight.”

I laughed.  If my mom were that wickedly funny all the time, she’d be one hell of a blogger.