My mom got tagged with the nickname George before I entered my teenage years and it stuck with her all her life. It came about when she botched cutting her hair and emerged from the bathroom with it pulled back into a short queue secured with a rubber band. I remarked, "Mama, you look just like George Washington," and from that day on, George she was to family members as well as friends and a number of business associates who knew the history. It frequently drew stares when one of us addressed her in public, but the story always gave the hearer a chuckle once it was explained.
Each year on her birthday, I set Ganesha in a place of honor, pick some flowers for him, lay out a piece of candy or a sweet pastry by his side, and add some other bits of motherly memorabilia to the altar before lighting incense in the burner at his feet. As the scent of pine fills the air, I mentally walk the trails my mother loved best, trails we shared when she was in her prime. Happy Birthday, George.
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