You’ll find last year’s ode to my mother on my left sidebar: A Love Song For Joyce.
Aside from being a professional martyr, my mother also was a talented artist with a wickedly funny sense of humor.
On a Mother’s Day over twenty years ago, she presented all each of her children with an identical painting – five in all. The painting depicted a peaceful cemetery on a lovely spring day, fresh flowers colorfully adorning each headstone…
…and smack in the middle, one ugly headstone fashioned to look like a beaten, weathered outhouse. The inscription on the door read:
Here lies Joyce Hazel Felts Wroten Grayson,
Who lived without an inch of backbone or an ounce of spine.
If you missed your chance to shit on her in life,
Please feel free to do so now.
Heh. That was my Mom.
And yes, I was on the crapper when I remembered what today was, and that memory came wafting back, so to speak.
Mom would be so proud.
