Dear Carla,
Thank you, hon. Very profound and wonderful.
God Bless
marty auslander
> ken naehring wrote:
>
> Steeped with Meaning
>
> My mom and I sat in the small college cafe with out large
> mugs of something that smelled like lemon and tasted like
> home. We were catching up on the past four months of our
> lives and the hours just weren't long enough. Sure, we had
> talked on the phone and occasionally written. But the calls
> were long distance, and it was rare to find a moment when my
> roommate wasn't waiting for the phone or my younger brother
> or sister weren't waiting for my mom. So while we knew of
> each other's experiences, we had not yet dissected them. As
> we discussed her new job, and my latest paper, my new love,
> and her latest interview, I leaned back into my cushion and
> thought: I always knew when she became my mother, but when
> had she become my friend?
>
> As far back as I can remember my mom was always the first
> that I came to with every tear and every laugh. When I lost
> a tooth and when I found a friend, when I fell from my bike,
> and when I got back on it, she was there. She never judged
> me; she let me set my own expectations. She was proud when I
> succeeded and supportive when I didn't. She always listened;
> she seemed to know when I was asking for advice and when I
> just needed a good cry. She multiplied my excitement with
> her own and divided my frustrations with her empathy and
> understanding. When she picked me up from school, she always
> asked about my day. And I remember one day asking about
> hers. I think I was a little surprised that she had so much
> to say. We rarely had late night talks (because she was
> already asleep), nor early morning ones (because I was not
> yet up), but in between the busy hours of our filled days,
> we found the time to fill each other's ears with stories and
> hearts with love. She slowly shared more and more of her own
> life with me, and that made me feel more open with her. We
> shared experiences and hopes, frustrations and fears.
> Learning that she still had blocks to build and to tumble
> made me more comfortable with my own. She made me feel that
> my opinions were never immature and my thoughts never silly.
> What surprises me now is not that she always remembered to
> tell me "sweet dreams", but that she never forgot to tell me
> that she believed in me. When she started going through some
> changes in her life, I had the opportunity to tell her that
> I believed in her too.
>
> My mother had always been a friend. She had given me her
> heart in its entirety; but her soul, she divulged in pieces,
> when she knew that I was ready.
>
> I sat across from the woman who had given me my life and
> then shared hers with me. Our mugs were empty, but our
> hearts were full. We both knew, that tomorrow she'd return
> to the bustle of Los Angeles and Iąd remain in the hustle of
> New Haven. I know that we are both growing and learning.
> Yet, we continue to learn about each other and grow closer.
> Our relationship was like the tea we had sipped, mixed with
> honey and lemon, the longer it steeped, the better it
> tasted.
>
> from A Second Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul
> Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and
> Kimberly Kirberger
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