My mom has always been the life of the party. The balloons following her like fancy tail feathers, she seems to have passed through the party portal and into the spotlight. I thought this exemplified her presence in their community of musical friends. She hoots, hollers and whistles after each song, dances all night long.
I asked her if she remembered which party this was at. She thinks it was an anniversary party for her friends. I felt like I was there, like it was mom and Dad’s 25th anniversary at Bradley Center. Photos and memories are funny like that, there seems to be a blurring of the lines of time, what’s real and imagined.
Mom says she was bringing the balloons home for us kids. Probably mischievously trying to conceal them behind her back with an obvious, “try and stop me” look in her eyes, cackling all the way to the car.
Beneath the paint, the words “(w)right stuff” are visible from a sign Uncle Don had printed long ago. It fits my mom so well, and she was certainly the exact “right stuff” for my dad.
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