They called her Deanie.

I have spent a few moments this week thinking about my mom.  My mom was a silly, funny, quirky person.  She listened to Tennessee Ernie Ford, Elvis and Patsy Cline.  She laughed easily and she got fiery mad.  

I was thinking about my mom because, as is often the case, I realized I was in the midst of doing something just as she did.  Sometimes it is something small.  The way I pat my hair, for example.  I realize while I am doing it that it is something she did and even if I concentrate, I can’t seem to not do it.  If I am successful at NOT patting my hair, 30 seconds after I celebrate my will and control, I am patting my darn hair. 

My mom was a riot.  She would play the stereo loud, sing along and dance.  She was usually humming, and would move her little feet around, even while doing the dishes.    When Mom was a young girl, high school aged, she and her best friend, Ruthie, would go out dancing.  They picked their dates not on who they liked but who they knew would dance.  Dancing was big.  Music was big.  

I am pretty sure I get my spunk from my little Irish mother, and her mother before her.  Thanks, Mom.  I’ve needed my spunk every now and then!