They know who you really are.

Mum is here.

Right now, she's asleep, 'doing my old mother thing', as she says. I just smile and nod when she does. But I don't believe her. The woman might be sixty, but there is no way she's old. And sure, she's a mother, but she's so much more than that.

Do you know those two, maybe three people in your life with whom you don't even need words to have a conversation most of the time? Maybe an old old friend, a lover, a brother. Someone with whom you can spend many comfortable silences, who knows all of your quirks and little biases and what REALLY MATTERS TO YOU SO MUCH YOU WOULD KILL FOR IT even if you pretend it doesn't matter at all. When you see this person, you pick up just like you've never left each other's company.

To whom you can say, "that pear is really green", and they'll know you were comparing it to a pear you had discussed three years earlier at a farmer's market on the other side of the country, and will answer, "but I bet it won't fit in your sock", in reference to the pair of socks your favorite writer had published an expository essay on (and they had read and then sent to you for that reason alone) six months later. With whom your conversations can be completely nonsensical, or at least appear that way to the public at large.

These people, and I sincerely hope you have some, are the cornerstones of your life. They remind you of who you are at your most basic level, what you love and care about and the way you want to live in the world. They help you get through the tough times in life, and often will arrive at your doorstep just in the nick of time, seemingly without cause. You will think of each other simultaneously when you're a thousand miles away, and one will call the other because one of you needs a reminder of your fundamental self.

Yep, you got it. I know it's cliche to say your mother knows you better than anyone, and that you're good friends (or maybe just pity-inducing). But I'm going to throw it out there in a completely contrarian way... too bad, world, this ain't your normal. I'm pretty gall darn lucky to have a friend in Ms. Becky.

So maybe she's finally asleep. But the poor woman, she just got in from the East Coast yesterday, where it's three hours later; last night we stayed up talking; and this morning I made her get up at 6:30am to help me set up, cook for, and direct the FCCB cafe (for six hours nonetheless). She gladly rose early and met a million people, made her famous coffee cake, had rather philosophical discussions with three parishioners, attended the 11am service with me, went to lunch with Margaret and I, toured the co-op, and went girly dress shopping at Jeremy's all before sitting down once. And then dinner at HiP, talking with four new grad students in fields varying from biomechanics to Russian literature to displaced tribes in Jamaica. Finally home. Not your average sixty-year-old. Not your average lady. I am impressed.