June 8th at 918 always meant birthday cake...and
chocolate covered peanuts, and frosted glasses of beer,
lots of laughs and sassy jokes,
a card game somewhere,
a hot temper somewhere else,
but mostly a lively bunch on this yearly return.
our mother was born in 1916.
cheers to Peggy!
5 comments:
well, i finally got back to posting...although it's still the 8th on the west coast and the post says the 9th...STILL not perfect. cheezzz, when will i be?
For some reason on Peg's birthday I have accidents. I always wonder if it's her way of fucking with me one last time. I fell down some stairs and bruised my shoulder. But I didn't go through the window, I coulda, so did she push me and save me?
silly me, she loved me right?
happy birthday Margaret Murray Flatley!
She was a mentally ill trouper, she faked sanity until the end.
For a long time (?) there was a question in our mother's mind as to whether her REAL birthday was June 8th or 9th. We all settled on the 8th but I don't honestly know if she did. Which Murray relative put the question into their little sister's head?
One more mystery to add to the heap.
Poet
I appreciate Mom more now that I do not have to visit her in the mental hospital geriatric ward. She was unhappy and confused, and it was painful. Plus she screamed at us and swore at times. Sorry to put a negative comment on here, but those are some of my last memories of her.
didn't anyone notice that she has three thumbs in this picture?
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