A couple of days ago I was walking along Bloor West Village when I was distracted by the sight of a large white dog and a small grey kitten communing in the doorway of the Hallmark shop. I stopped to watch and noticed that a woman on the other side of the doorway was just as captivated by the scene. With her stylin' 'do, happening shades and tasteful ensemble she was the epitome of older woman chic and cool. Oh, for heaven's sake, it's my mother! Hugs and "what are you doing here?" followed. Passersby might not take us for mother and daughter. For one thing, we hardly look old enough and for another while I have yet to name my particular look, I have pretty much eliminated cool.
Our temperments are often at variance. For instance, she doesn't dig Wodehouse and is at a loss to understand my fondness for westerns. On the other hand, I don't get her thing for Anderson Cooper and refuse to understand her liking for NASCAR. One thing we do have in common is a healthy admiration for baritones - especially this guy. Happy Mother's Day!