This is my beautiful mother, Sydney. She is clever, funny, feisty, opinionated, determined, loving, courageous, and wicked smart. She almost was a nun, but said no thanks. She speaks three languages and is currently learning Italian. She has two masters’ degrees. She took 15 years out of her career to raise me and my brother. Then she went on to teach college humanities, until retiring a year ago. She knows about art, literature, history, sociology. She is a perpetual volunteer. She writes mysteries. She has exquisite handwriting. She reads voraciously. She embraces technology but it doesn’t always hug her back. She’s read and taught The Iliad and The Odyssey something like 50 times each, and knows Dante’s hell like the back of her hand. She can tell you about Brunelleschi’s dome and Bernini and Hagia Sophia, modern art, and Asian art. She loves slapstick, forensic dramas, and all theater. She knits like a badass, and makes beautiful and useful clothing, quilts, embroidery, sweaters, hats, socks—you name it.
She is punctual, dependable, thoughtful, and profoundly generous of her time, creativity, the work of her hands, her caring, her teaching. She is a faithful friend and a lovely person who never stops learning, doing, helping, creating, and reading. I admire her and love her.
My mama has always been there for me, with love and support, even when we disagree. She still takes care of me just about every day in one way or another. I am so grateful to her. For more than I could ever say. Happy Mothers Day, Mom. You’re the best.