Khutspe Mama

Mom just called me at work a few minutes ago.

My little Jewish, gray haired, post-Bloomingdale's shopper, just recovering from brain surgery due to a fall from her horse, sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly, Mom told me this story:

Mom: "Theresa, I have a great story for your blog".

(Hmmmmm, I didn't know Mom read my blog.)

YNB: "What happened Mom?"

Mom: "Yesterday me and Dad went to the stable so that he can go on a long ride with his friends (riding horses) so I stayed behind with two girls ages 11 and 12. One of the girls screams, 'Rose, come here and bring your gun there's a big snake'. So I run over with my 22 and start shooting at this huge snake with an orange head."

YNB: "Mom, Dad gave you your gun back?" (Okay, I only thought that.)

Mom: "I just kept shooting and shooting, but my gun is too small and it was hard to aim. But some man came by and killed it with a shovel. Now everyone here says I'm finally a true southerner." (They used to just call them "Damn Yankees".

There are a lot of obvious issues here that I can hash over but after everything we've been through with the accident and the surgeries and all the praying, right now all I can think of is, "Yeah, Mom's back".

And I'm feeling a little.......(sniff)...."Verklempt".