Seventy-three years ago today my mom was born. She gave us a brief retelling of the story of her arrival in one of her first posts. The title, "Seventy-Six Trombones" is appropriate for someone born on the 4th ofJuly, in hot southeast Texas. I always thought it would be cool to be born on a holiday; I doubt that day felt cool in any way, shape or form.

I've already written a post about my mother, Judith, known to some of you as Flight Song. If she weren't my mother, I'd still want to get to know her. I'd want to hear her stories. She has lived through more than most of us will ever experience in a lifetime, and she still has a gentle spirit and a sense of humor. She can't tell a joke to save her life, blows the punchline every time, but all five of her kids love her dearly. She is precious in every sense of the word.

She is little in stature. It's just that nobody has ever told her so. She's got a lot of fight left in her, just not usually against her fellow man. My mom and I have not lived closer than 750 miles apart for the last 25 years. We are very close though, where it counts. Our hearts. Two years ago, after a tragic loss in our family, I sat down and taught her how to email. We needed to be in touch more. I wrote out step-by-step instructions. I promised her it would feel like talking once she did it a few times. The first email I received from her I put on my fridge door, just like a proud mother might of a drawing done at pre-school. I couldn't believe she'd really done it.

Two months ago she relocated across the mountain in Colorado, to live near my sister, Barb. In the process of moving, her computer has gone completely haywire, her email addresses disappeared; heck, it even took two weeks to get the TV hooked up. If it had been fall reality TV season, it would have killed Boomama! Mom is trying to get her computer woes straightened out. She'll soon return to this blogging world she bravely tiptoed into just a little while back. She has a style very different than Barb or I, or for anyone else for that matter. Reading her writings feels like curling up at the feet of a good storyteller; you know you should pay attention.

For now, feel free to send Happy Birthday greetings to her; mark her on your bloglines and watch to see when she returns. She's worth listening to, as long as she's not trying to tell you a joke.

Happy Birthday Mom. Wish I could be there for the party. I love you.