On Mothers’ Day we couldn’t go to my mother’s because of her dogs and my daughter’s allergy. Ditto Fathers’ Day. We used to have picnics with our dearest friends on Fathers’ Day. The fathers would play tennis. The mothers minded the children and laid out the picnic. We don’t do that anymore. We rarely see them. We’ve graduated to the one page enclosure within the Christmas card. The failed picnics…and our contingencies.
Note: my nephews wanted to add a picture to this old post. They consider it...poignant.
The Forest of Pongracz where the SS murdered my friendships.
Oh, well. Life goes on.
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