Violet Palm, Osnabruck, North Dakota, 1928 Two weeks ago, on May 17th, I had an eventful day, as y’all know if you read this blog. Searchin’ on the web, I found a huge amount of stuff had happened on that date throughout history, but one thing I failed to mention then, I’ll mention now on May 31st, is that May 17th was my mom’s birthday. She would’ve been 109 years old. Ma was forty-two when I was born, a fact that I’ve over-used in my on-going tenure as her fourth child, and her only son. I think she’d probably tell me not to dwell on that fact, as lots of women as old as that and older have birthed babies since time eternal, what’s the big deal? Knock it off. Let it go. Geesh, don’t you have other things to write about? I guess I mention it out of routine, some list I check off as I begin my life story in conversation, should anyone get me started down that road, or gives me time as well as a few good writing pens and/or paper. But maybe I should start talking about Ma diffe
At the end of the game, the king and the pawn both go back in the same box.—Italian proverb