Happy Mother’s Day, gang! The Spawn is spending the afternoon with the Main Squeeze’s family up in Terpville, but spent nearly an hour chatting with Mrs. M yesterday afternoon, maintaining her record of being a Good Kid. And I hope all of us can have a moment today to feel like a Good Kid, a Good Mom, or maybe even both.
The semester is winding up; finals begin tomorrow, with Commencement on Saturday, and then I’m off until the two courses I’ll teach in June. Naturally, then, yesterday afternoon brought what I recognized as the symptoms of my annual cold which usually develops into bronchitis, and sometimes (in Very Special Episodes) into pneumonia. So it looks like I’ll be checking in with a local sawbones tomorrow in an attempt to nip this thing in the bud.
No, I don’t believe it to be the ‘Rona. As I said, this pretty much happens to me every year, so I know the drill. And of course, there’s work to be done. One of my classes — the entry-level creative writing course — is already in the bag, and I put together the final exam for my film class before I started this post. I still need to write the exam for my Edward Gorey course, and there’s some leftover grading to be done for my freshpeeps.
With luck, I’ll have everything in the can by Thursday.
Although I spent a substantial portion of my life in Kentucky, I’ve never been keen on the horse industry. I’m leery of anything that’s big enough to trample me, and I never really had the money to gamble on racing. In fact, I’ve never been to a horse racing event, despite spending years in the shadow of two important tracks — Keeneland for the thoroughbreds and the Red Mile for the trotters. I know folks who go to Louisville for the Derby, or who have parties and wear fancy hats and such. But that’s just never been my thing. Maybe Mint Juleps help; I don’t know.
Still, I have to admit that I was tickled to see an 80-1 longshot win the Kentucky Derby yesterday. Watching replays, it seemed as though Rich Strike simply found an extra gear at the race’s end, and watching him catch and pass the favorites was impressive. And as I learned more about the horse and his jockey, trainer, and owner, it just strikes me as a classic underdog story. We can all use those occasionally — reminders that every once in a while, the $30,000 claimer can outrun the products of the syndicates and industrial class trainers. After all, don’t most of us feel like $30,000 claimers from time to time?
Since it’s Mothers Day, I’ll wrap things up with a couple of songs for the moms in my life. When Mrs. M and I started dating, I was heading back to Northern KY every two or three weeks to visit family and friends, and to stock up on leftovers while doing free laundry. Somehow this became the song I used to let her know that I was always looking forward to coming back. Eventually it was our first dance at our wedding. From Turtle Creek, PA and 1966, these are the Vogues.
Some years after that, toward the end of my folks’ lives, I introduced them to the work of Tom Waits, telling them they would either love it or hate it. As it turned out, they loved it, and my dad wound up appropriating my copy of Rain Dogs as his own. Not long after that, my mom told me she had run across another Waits song she really liked, so I got her that CD for Christmas. Here it is.
See you soon!