Sunday, July 24, 2016


If my mother, Dorothy Sargent Boudreau, were alive today, I am sure she would have been a blogger. Her last career was that of a journalist writing for the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune and the Boston Herald.

After she "retired" she regularly wrote two columns, Stove Stories, which were recipes with a history and Going Like 60 covering just about anything, in other words, perfect blog material.

She was a good writer.

She died in 1989 and when I cleaned out her apartment I kept many of her clips. They are now two doors down and three flights up in my Nest.

So, how did one of the clips about mothers day did one of those clips end up in my nightstand?

I discovered it a couple of days ago when I was looking for Fenistil to sooth my itchy bites.

I don't believe in contact from the other world even if the toilet on the second floor of my aunt's house flushed when no one was there when the family was gathered on the first floor after her funeral.

And just because there was a tomato plant growing on my grandfather's grave in the middle of the city cemetery after he told everyone to "Plant me in the garden. When the tomatoes come up all ripe and luscious, you can say, 'that's Walter'" doesn't mean there was any communication from the other side.

I don't have an explanation. I don't think I want one.

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