I was born in southern California and lived about as close to the Tijuana border as possible. Three feet of seven stretchable acres of my grandfather’s farmland was taken to the “other side” when the border fence was built. Our family farm was also located so close to the Pacific Ocean you could smell the surf but not hear the sound. Which brings me to…snow. The weather kind.

It doesn’t snow south of San Diego seven miles from the beach. Ocean but not Pacific OceanNor does it snow on that inland sandy patch of ground called the Tijuana Valley used for growing tomatoes, onions, radishes and all things green above and below top soil level. If snow happens (the weather kind) it happens in a blink. Is gone in less. Of course, I’m remembering from a long time ago and perhaps things have changed. The weather. The occurrence of snow in and around the Tijuana Valley of southern California. I rather doubt it.

I moved north not because it had more snow and southern California didn’t have much if any, but because that was where we were going to make our new home. I didn’t know about the bonus of snow until it happened. I thought it happened a lot. Which meant it happened more than…never. Which is what I knew. Maybe it didn’t snow every year. It just happened a lot more than I had ever seen. Ever. It was a big deal to me.

A huge and very big deal.

It was exciting and I’m not ashamed to admit (confess) I absolutely went over the moon when it snowed. Then. In the early days.

And now. Still. To. This. Day.

Which brings me to my Daughter. She was born here and knows about all that snow stuff. “It’s only weather, Ma’am,” she tells me.    But I know. I know she is as excited as I am about this white weather stuff called snow. Know how I know? Because she calls me.  No matter what hour day or night. The telephone will ring and I will answer.

“It’s snowing,” she’ll say with a smile. She can hear my own smile through the whiteness of the day or night. That unspoken binding declaration between Mother and Daughter of I’m-going-to-call-you-when-it-snows.

Which brings me to my Mother. My Reader knows about my Mother because I’ve mentioned her before. She’s in that in-between memory place. She calls when she needs something. To complain. To be grumpy. She doesn’t think about the weather. Mother remembers my phone number but often not my name. I got a very early morning call last week. Too early. I figured the worse.  I answered the telephone. Mother called to say…

“It’s snowing….”

20 thoughts on “MOTHER CALLED TO SAY…

  1. Lovely post. I never imagined snow in that part of the world. But then, I never imagined weather in that part of the world. Or seasons, even. I need to get out more …


    1. Thank you for stopping by, PT….and, yes, “getting out more….” is good and I should [probably] take that advice myself.

      Since I’m now following you: Your essays (dislike using the word “blog” especially when the writing is of a higher order) intrigue me and inspire me to think….on a higher order. Thank you for that! Just so you know….


  2. Lovely, lovely post. I am loving all of your posts that I’ve read. Mothers and Daughters are so special. I love that your daughter calls when it’s snowing! Mine calls me too. And it feels wonderful to know she thinks of me when the miracle of snow begins. I love that your mother called you too. And I’m shocked by how emotional I am about all of this.
    Many thanks for your posts.


  3. Such fluid writing. I wasn’t expecting that kind of ending but didn’t that bring you a bit a joy? I think you’ll leave this reflective moment etched in the minds of your readers. It is is mine.


    1. TM…my Mother has never been “easy” and as she ages, forgets and ages some more…she gets even less so. Yes, I will remember that phone call at 7-10am dreading having to answer and then…the sweetness of her voice. It will live on…..

      Thank you. Sincerely.


  4. Having a record player is in vogue now…my daughter has one and we just went to a thrift store and bought several LP’s so we are back, full circle! I loved this and I “heard” the smile on your face, which made me smile…again, another circle. 🙂 Beautiful post!-Beck


    1. Thank you so much for the visit, Beck, and the comment. My 45 fat posted record player (that I shared w/2 sisters) had Mickey Mouse decals on the side!! Would be such a treasure now…along with all the Disney record stories we played. Over. And over. And over…..


  5. This is beautifully written. I know how difficult it can be in that “in-between memory place.” Seriously about the music though. If you are ever needing to feel more connected to your mother, put on some of her familiar music from when she was young. It is magical what it can bring back. Love, BB.


    1. Always had the radio/record player (geez I’m old) on at home. Plus I’ve played piano since three…Mother’s “fault”. Music&Mother. I’m there!
      Thank you, BB.


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