Remembering

My late mom found adventure in everything new

and was seldom without some fresh challenge or two.

A strange recipe thrilled her; she dared to branch out.

Fancy knitting? Her fingers soon knew all about

how to craft a crib blanket or make a fine sweater,

yet she paused at her desk to write someone a letter.

Or she’d hop in my plane to go fish in the sea,

then return to bake biscuits to have with our tea.

When her cupboards looked dingy or just a bit old

she grabbed paint and a brush to turn boring to bold.

When she took a balloon ride one bright sunny day

I distinctly remember what she had to say:

“It was certainly different to float up and go,

but to tell you the truth, that darned thing was too slow.”