Seaside's on Fire. Of course. *&^%$#

Who knew it would end up this way?  Certainly not me.  I never gave the future much thought growing up.  But maybe that was best because if I had, I doubt I would have predicted a mostly crippled mother by 25, a deceased father by 27, the destruction of my childhood beach house not by Sandy, but by new owners, and now, the inferno that is Seaside Heights.  And, most importantly, that my mother would live hundreds of miles away and I'd only see her once or twice a year.  How on earth did this happen?  My mother's parents lived around the block from us.  My father's parents lived 10 minutes away.  My maternal grandparents' home seemed like an extension of our own and my father made it a point to visit his mother once a week.  

And me?  My mother just vacationed in Virginia Beach for the week and on her way out the door of my house tonight, she said, "Try to call me on occasion and not just text."  

She was raised Catholic after all...  

I'm an only child.  She's my only intimate witness to my childhood.  There are times I feel like we have absolutely nothing in common and then she sends me a text telling me that she's arrived safely at her beach house and that she misses me already and I am reduced. to. tears.  

Don't even know where they came from.  But I can see and hear the clock ticking and I just have to wonder, "How on earth did we wind up this way?" and "How much time do we have left?"

And so, I'll turn this disjointed, regretful post into a plea, maybe partially prompted by my mother's companion:

GET YOUR KNEES DONE.

:)

I love you, Moo.  I'm so very sorry that we're so far apart, but you still make me laugh harder than most and cry harder than most, so there's that.  Thanks for coming to see us and we look forward to many future trips.  Even to Florida.  GACK.

At least it's not Pennsylvania.