At The Ready

Always with advice at the ready, my mother has never been shy about letting me know what she thinks. Even when she tries to hold back for fear that I'll roll my eyes or give her the "Yes, I know, Mom. I'm 26 years old. I know clean underwear is important. That's why I wear it," I can always tell what she thinks. It's like she's got a little idea tool belt and she'll pull out which ever one she needs for the given moment.

My dealings with the lady folk has been no exception for her. Any time she finds out there's someone around, she tries to supress her usually unsolicited feelings, but they always manage to find their way out of the holster. Over the last few years, things haven't been nearly as unsolicited as they were when I was a young pup and I've come to value my mother's opinion, be it a postmortem discussion about someone I've broken up with or just hearing her take on what she thinks I should do about a girl that I've been talking to.

If episodes of advice could be equated with sporting seasons, then tonight was probably her M.V.P. performance.

Everything she said came with such wisdom behind it. Usually she says things that I've heard somewhere before or it sounds so simple that I'm more apt to dismiss it or at least take it with less weight than intended in the delivery. Not so tonight. Every tidbit seemed fresh, unprepared and filling to my being. Forget chicken soup, it was the wild alaskan king salmon for my unsettled soul.

My holster-holding mom, part-time sage.