[Come summer heat, much of my blogging momentum melts away. Hence an experiment until Labor Day: fifty minimalist posts about whatever.]
Phone call from younger son to mom. Son reads mom’s blog. (Most of the time.)
Son: Hey mom. It’s July 23. Happy birthday!
Son’s mom: Thank you, sweetheart.
Son: Anything special on for today?
Son’s mom: Well, your brother and the kids came down Saturday. Bill brought me a dozen yellow roses. We’re going out to dinner. (Pause.) Did you know my parents were married on July 23, too?
Son: No I didn’t. Quite a coincidence.
Son’s mom: Back when I was eleven, twelve, I used to say I was born on my parents’ wedding day. I thought it sounded risqué. A very pregnant bride being rushed to the hospital right after saying “I do!”
Son: I guess it could happen. How many years earlier did they really get married?
Son’s mom: Six. Then my mother wanted a baby. She got more than she bargained for. Thirty-six hours of labor. Husband out of a job in the middle of the depression. I heard all about it. Especially the thirty-six hours of labor. She used to joke I didn’t want to come out. They had to pull me out with forceps. Lazy from the day I was born.
Son (tactfully): Was that why they didn’t have another?
Son’s mom: Maybe. But my mother also felt one was enough. When I was pregnant with you, she was not supportive. She asked what I needed another for.
Son (quickly changing subject): Those little summer posts you’ve been doing lately: how does it feel to just crank one out and be done with it?
Son’s mom: Well, I don’t really just “crank.” It takes time to come up with a topic at least some people might be interested in. Bill says I could write about anything. I don’t know about that.
Son: Sure you can.
Son’s mom: You think? Suppose I wrote about being born on my parents’ wedding anniversary. How would readers feel when I criticize my mother to everyone?
Son: They’d be fine with it. It’s not as if you’re complaining about everything every day.
So son’s mom listened to son. Was son right?