It was the first time – though clearly not the last – that little Lindsay L. was exposed to her mother’s ‘funny’ cigarettes.
Her mother’s legendary Friday night get-togethers, with their smoke, charcuteries, wine and mismatched upholstery textures, were a hallmark of Patty’s childhood.
With their matching Peter Pan collars, hairstyles and hand motions there was no doubt that Peggy was actually the little girl’s mother.
Sugar highs used to be much simpler, three soda pops and a few musical notes from a white truck.
“This photograph captured the last time I’ve seen my daughter smile, because after my house guests left that Sunday I had to tell Jessica that her father wasn’t coming home,” I ruined my first date with an old, but still fresh memory.
Lynn knew that it was a sad state of affairs to consider sitting on her mother’s lap while she gabbed away with strangers that she would make loud noises in her bedroom with sooner rather than later, while possibly giving her cancer, a happier time in her life, but things had only gone downhill.
Grandma and me share a smoke.
Mary shared this memory of one of her favorite days she had as a child, when her mother had a picnic with her before letting her stay up with the adults and hear family story after story before her eyes finally gave way, at her mother’s funeral thirty years later.
Cute! (No entry from me today; that’s just a cute picture.)
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