You tell my kids (always in Italian) how gorgeous they are, and you tell me that I work hard and look beautiful.  I treasure your kindness, how you always take the time to visit and say hello.

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You danced with the San Francisco ballet before you became a mother.  I wanted to be just like you.  Lessons five days a week, babysitting reduced my tuition.  Pregnant with your third child, your plies looked effortless. 

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every time I visited my grandparents, you’d come over from next door with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.  Still warm.  When I found out that you kept dough in your freezer, I was delighted by your ingenuity.    

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After the screw was removed from your leg, you gave it to me so I could wear it on a necklace.  After high school you married so young and had twins.  Now they’re old as we were.

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You lived across from my grandparents; the neighbor they looked out for because he was older.  You always had jars of candy for company.  The people who live there now help out my grandmother.  I’m so grateful.

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Rumor was you broke a paddle over a girl’s butt for saying bitch. When I asked if the sun already burned out and we were feeling the last of it, you simply sent me to the hallway. 

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The best compliment (at least about physical beauty) I ever heard was delivered from my former husband to you: Wow, Mary, you look like the women that bombers had painted on their airplanes in World War Two.

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We rounded the corner at the exact same time, your mug of hot, hot chocolate down the front of my glowworm nightgown.  I was afraid it had melted into me, it stung so badly.  You: flustered, sorry.

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Our mothers were friends and so we spent lots of time together.  Once you came over for Thanksgiving with your siblings and parents.  Your table manners were so atrocious, I CRIED later.  You totally ruined my Thanksgiving.

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you made me a State of California Alternate ID in your workshop, I still have it.  Your house was filled with books, newspaper clippings, photos, and stories.  I think about you every time I file my taxes.

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