The missus and I turned down an invitation to spend Mother’s Day with friends from church, their parents and in-laws. We would have gone but we both have an unwritten rule about spending family holidays with nonfamily.
And our friends’ relatives truly would not have cared. They are genuinely kind and come from good Mexican stock, where non-relatives can indeed come to a Mother’s Day celebration and nobody would bat an eye. Bring your own mother, your neighbors, your bookie, whatever, no le hace. Grab a plate and oh, could you bring a bag of ice on your way over? This is how we roll.
Some of our holidays do look like this, especially when commitments prevent us from visiting family who live too far away for a Sunday afternoon drive.
Instead of a barbecue with friends, we opted to brave the Mother’s Day restaurant crowd. We happened upon a small Italian place, with a full espresso bar, on the charming Miracle Mile, about a mile south of University of the Pacific. Antique shops, offices, restaurants and cafés comprise the bulk of the district’s retail offerings. A smattering of homes rezoned as light office zones make up the rest of the commercial corridor. Charming brick and wood-slat homes built in the 20s, 30s and 40s line the neighborhood streets.
As we sat at our cozy window table, we talked about our mothers and friends, about having children of our own and wondering what they would look like. The restaurant was replete with adorable children in their Sunday finery, which furthered our discussion.
My wife became distracted. I looked out the window and see a casually but decently dressed Asian woman sporting a sun visor, sunglasses and a motorized wheelchair. Behind her was a more shabbily dressed Asian man, wearing cutoff camouflage shorts, a yellow tank top, aviator sunglasses and a salt-and-pepper fu manchu and accompanying ponytail. Recognizing he had indeed found a good thing, he held on to the back of her wheelchair, guided under the power and direction of his lady friend.
“Ha! Did you see that? Please tell me you didn’t miss the parade.”
“I saw them coming up the street. I caught the whole show.”
“I was wondering what you were looking at,” I said. “I could tell you were distracted.”
“Grandma was right. There is a lid for every pot.”