My Mother Was Everything.

A life is never just one thing. It’s everything. My mother was everything.

This is gonna be a rambler, folks. It’s her birthday, and I’m feeling it.

I am, in so many ways, my mother. Her compulsive gift-giving, her love of gardening, her call to adventure, her love of craft (regardless of outcome), her zeal for new flavors and new territories are all bits and pieces of her that I collected over time. They are the fragments of herself she imbued within me, ceaselessly — and in some ways…