Procrastinating

This is the first time I have ever used Mother's Day as an excuse for anything. I didn't know my own mother very well, so my earliest awareness of Mother's Day fell into the shrug file with the greatest of ease. When I became a mother 38 years ago, I also had a mother-in-law who never met a holiday she couldn't plan like a pro. I was more than happy to let her be the Mother's Day star and take a break from the mothering as my mother's day gift. In my personal herstory, my most special days come when they damn well feel like it and planning special events around the calendar days seems to result in dismal disasters.

Still, in the current indecisiveness on whether to continue chilling here at the ranch or to carry through on the plan to get back to the river region, Mother's Day hit my radar as one of the more socially acceptable excuses for putting off departure for another week. My callousness toward established holidays, including birthdays, was/is one of the places I have been questioning my herstorical wisdom. The cynicism, alone, has rained on more than one parade and. . . Well? ? ?

Of course, the garden tractor I ordered for Hubs yesterday has nothing to do with my decision to stay for another week. I don't need to be here for its arrival on Wednesday. I don't need to be the first one to ride on the new toy.