Mooly, A Definition

Dear Mimi, 


As far as I know, it started with your co-worker and friend Aida. To the three of us, 'Mooly' meant something beyond cool, original, and not necessarily trendy. In fact, mooly-ness probably decreases with trendiness. We, of course, were VERY mooly. 


I don't know why the word 'mooly' is...the word 'mooly'. Was it a word Aida had been using and shared with us? I was 7-ish, was it maybe a nonsense word I made up? Was it the product of a tongue twist? Is it possible we were talking about the unruly moon? Maybe we were talking about cow noises and drooling? I guess it doesn't really matter, as the definition seems to apply to the word itself.


And, you are still the mooliest person I know.


Love, 


A

Now I'm Going to Have to Explain Mooly

Dear Mimi, 


I found a picture frame in your dresser drawer. It is so 'you', yet at the same time, so 'me'. The frame is so much the both of us that I can't remember if I gave it to you, or if it was something you bought and I just happened to love. It was so, totally, mooly. I don't even want to remember whose it was or where it originated as I love our intertwining too much. I absconded with the frame, and it is now on my bookshelf. There is not a picture in it yet, but I'm pretty sure I know who will be in the picture I choose. 


Love, 


A 

Hop on the Potty Train

Dear Mimi, 


Living with a three year old is hilarious. Remember when my three year old thought his Thomas the Train tent was the 'potty train' he overheard us mention? He was so frustrated that he didn't get to go potty in that train. 


Recently, I introduced him to the joys of running around barefoot. Dad had the pleasure of listening to me try to explain the difference between 'bear' and 'bare'. I was not successful, and we now speak of putting our 'bear' feet when we take our shoes off. 


Wearing my bear feet and missing you, 


A

Notes From You, Volume 1

Dear Mimi, 


You wrote little notes and stuck them all over the house. Tiny reminders of things to do, bets you didn't want to lose track of, friends you made, things and people to pray for and about. And personal pep-talks. Written-word cheerleaders dressed in Sharpie, shouting out encouragement in your own hand. These notes are still posted around your kitchen:

Love, 


A 

Mashed Potatoes

Dear Mimi, 

You loved mashed potatoes. I mean, you LOVED mashed potatoes. They were the comfort food of all comfort foods in your eyes. You once told me that you wanted to fall asleep with a bite of mashed potatoes in your mouth so that it would be first thing you enjoyed the next morning. A different time, you told me that you wanted to die with a bite of mashed potatoes in your mouth. Something I've noticed about dying - most people (with some obvious exceptions) don't get to pick what they eat immediately before. Unless of course, they decide to go to sleep with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. Because I'm pretty sure that scenario ends with a feast with Jesus at the Banquet Table, and not so much with the hoped for early morning treat. 

Love, 

A

To Hell With Fear - 1997

Dear Mimi,


I found a collection of photos you put together to chronicle your first battle with breast cancer. This photo was the first in the packet and was labeled, 'Nov 97 - Before Surgery.'


I recognize that room - it is the living room in our Hopkinsville house. I know all the details: the loveseat you sit on, purchased when we first moved to town; the walls painted in the proper Morgan-Dohner palette; the sweatshirt you are wearing, which you painted to read, 'To Hell With Fear'; the couple with you, a local pastor and his wife, his name is some arrangement of consonants - L.B.? L.T.? W.L.?


I remember every thing in that room, except the look on your face. You are smiling, but your eyes are red, you have been crying. And when I look very closely, I see something unmistakable. Yet, it is as unfamiliar a piece of your landscape to me as if you had grown a mountain next to your nose. You were scared. I can see that as clearly as I can see the other details in the photo. I know it as intimately as I know the items in that room. 


I didn't know you were so scared. Or, if I did, I chose to ignore and forget. Or, I was trying so hard to not be scared, I couldn't see it on you. Or, I was too busy learning to be funny to provide levity.


I wish the me that I am now could sit with you on that couch in 1997. I would know how this all ends and could tell you that you have many more years, most of them cancer free. I could tell you that we all make it out of the battle relatively unscathed. I might even tell you about the beautiful grandchildren you would get to play with. Or, I might just snuggle up next to you and finally say, 'It's okay - I'm scared, too.'


Love, 


A

Everyone Who Knows You Will Know What a 'Mimi' Dress Looks Like

Dear Mimi,


I am wearing a 'Mimi' dress today. Even though I am sitting at my desk, in my office, having driven here in my car, from the house that I own...I feel like a little girl. The dress fits me. The sleeves are not too long, I do not trip on the bottom -- but I am amazed that this is so. Am I not eight years old? Shouldn't we be in the house in Orange? These mis-matched earring on your ears, and this dress tented around my frame? If I close my eyes, you are teaching me about purple eye shadow and how to properly clean a paintbrush and not putting stock in anyone else's opinion of me.


When my co-workers commented on my lovely dress, I did not tell them it was yours. I couldn't. If I did, wouldn't they see through me? Wouldn't they see the little girl, dressed up in your clothes? 


Love, 


A