10:05 p.m. | 2005-06-14 Unscripted Moments. It was a last moment request � asking BestestGirlfriend (BG) � to share lunch with me. And, I received a last minute response. It was during this impulsive event that she asked me this: (BG:) Hey, what are you doing after work? (CI:) Why? (Such a defensive response I must point out.) (BG:) Do you want to go to ThisTown? (CI:) Huh? ThisTown? For what? (BG:) Well, a friend of a friend � well they�re both my friends � is having an opening in a gallery. (CI:) What�s the medium? (BG:) Photography. Great stuff. He�s in negotiations with ThisHugeFamousMagazine at the moment. (CI:) What�s his general theme, I mean if he has one. (BG:) Human tragedy. (CI:) Really? (BG:) Specifically, it�s about ThisThing. At least for this showing. That�s not what will be published, of course, so he�s doing an opening instead. (CI:) Yeah, that�s too hot a topic for publication right now but totally intriguing. Yeah, I want to go with you. I have to say that that�s was quite a commitment on my part. I get invited to ThisTown all the time. This is the first time I went. Not because it�s far away or anything like that, just that a lot happens there and if I�m going to go outside my normal roaming territory, I must be compelled by the offer. That sounds kind of strange, I have to say, coming from a world traveler. But, there are a lot of creative endeavors that take place locally. I�ve learned to pick and choose. Carefully. So, I went enthusiastically and was not disappointed. I met the artist and was pleasantly astonished by his work. When BG dropped me off at home, I was distracted by the ideas in my head that were generated by this opening. On automatic pilot, I picked up my mail and set about my normal evening routine. However, I did notice that nestled amongst my mail was a letter from MyMother. I vaguely wondered what she wanted this time and then set it aside. Later, I opened all my mail, saving the note from MyMother until last. It�s usually a thinly-veiled, guilt-trip laden missive so I waited until I had fully savored my evening before opening it. I always open MyMother�s mail with a heavy sign and a heavy heart. This one seemed lighter but perhaps that was because I haven�t received many lately. What used to be a weekly occurrence has become a monthly or even quarterly event. Mostly because I stopped responding a long, long time ago. I pondered the stickers before opening it. MyMother�s a big fan of stickers. Every letter is festooned with them. Flowers again. Pansies this time. She�s a big fan of pansies. We even had a kitten named Pansy, once upon a time. Pansy was, um, killed [and buried] by a hay mower. Unfortunately, that�s the random association I have with that particular flower. They�re cute and they die. True but sad. Anyway, so pansy stickers. Okay. Flower card. Again, pansies. Okay. This time an apology. That�s new. Very new. One small moment went wrong between MyMother and myself at Christmas in July [in June] and for the first time, she recognized that. It was a moment that I�ve already resolved but she apologized. You don�t know MyMother; I do. That apology, in and of itself, is huge. In fact, she went way beyond an apology, copped to some serious things and then, at the end, kissed my ass. I�m not fond of the moments when she kisses my ass, or when someone else does, because those moments are falsehoods. Don�t play to my ego. It�s not warranted nor is it wise. But, everything before that? New territory. That�s remarkable. I�ve been peppered with letters from MyMother on a weekly basis since I was a teenager. That�s more that twenty years. This is the very first time that she�s ever written me a letter that had anything to do with me and her feelings about our relationship. And, quite frankly, the first time she�s apologized for anything. The very first time she�s not tried to induce guilt via the federal postal system. May not seem remarkable to you, but it is to me. So remarkable, I�ll respond. Hence, a new chapter in my life commences. your thoughts? seed flower