It's been a pretty subdued Mother's Day.

King and I went to a drive thru, got sandwiches and took them to the beach to watch the waves from the truck. I guilted him into it by telling him it was Mother's Day and since no one could visit he would have to substitute for the kids. We both knew I was fibbing. It is what it is. We are a close enough family that I.don't need anything special for Mother's Day. There will be plenty of other days for family gatherings.

One of our sons did stop by and give me a small plant. Since he has severe anxiety issues, the short stay and social distancing was probably a good thing for him.

Mother's Day brings about a lot of memories. Not so much about Mother's Day past, but about Mothers in general.

My cousin and I were talking (via Messenger) last night about horses and the memories of growing up with horses. I shared the following with her. Since it includes a memory of Mom it also makes a good Mother's Day post.

I had this big dumb Quarter Horse gelding when I was growing up. He was probably way too much horse for a rather mild-mannered equestrian (read he scared me sh--less). But he was born on the place which made his price one a frugal Dutch couple could manage. It never occurred to any of us that perhaps there might be a better fit somewhere in the equine world.

Mom, August 4, 1945. Her
wedding day. Chubby (the name of the horse) had a propensity of deciding when he had enough and would stand stock still. That was always a bad sign since his normal demeanor was prancing around and giving little crow-hops just for grins (his grins). Once he decided to not to move  you knew your next few minutes would include bouncing across the yard as he would then rear up and go over backwards. I learned to bail and roll. I was 12 at the time. He was a green-broke three-year old who could get away with it because, well, I was 12.

One day my younger sister, my BFF and I were going riding together when he decided "Nope. Not going to happen today."

As I rolled across the grass my friend took off on her horse to catch him. I picked myself up, spit out dirt and grass and counted my teeth then started down the road to meet her. We caught up with one another in front of the neighbors. My friend handed me the reins and Chubby started dancing around and stomping on feet. I'd had enough.

I took the reins from her and beat him across the chest spewing profanity that would make a sailor blush. My friend's eyes grew huge and she inclined her head slightly behind me. There stood Mom.

Mom was not impressed. "You get down on your knees right now and pray for forgiveness."

Up until this point in my life I had never talked back to my mother. But I looked at her and said, "Sure Mom. You hold the #$%#@# horse."

That was the last time I ever talked back to Mom. It was also the last time Chubby threw me.