What is tomorrow, boys and girls?
Well, it’s Mother’s Day for one thing.
Did you forget? I bet not but if so, I just reminded you. You are welcome.
As for mothers, I have two. The first raised me to my wedding day. The second has attempted to finish the job every day since.
Ellamae is my birth mom. Good Wife Norma is not.
Ellamae Spencer and Russ Moseley survived World War II; she was Rosie the Riveter making bombs and shells at the Cornhusker Ordnance Plant in Grand Island while he and his shipmates lobbed some of them at the Japanese from cannons mounted on the decks of the destroyer USS Sigourney in the Pacific Theater.
They met, married, and eventually were presented with me as a dubious reward for their mutual heroism.
Mom lives at the Central Nebraska Veterans Home in Kearney where she sort-of celebrated her 96th birthday the other day with none but a few staff to cheer the big event with her in person.
On June 27, 1970, we said our vows and Mother No. 2 assumed supreme command of Project Steve where Mother No. 1 left off. Thus, it has been a joint, two-mother conspiracy to mold me into at least a partially evolved human being.
Good Wife Norma was young, naive, and blissfully ignorant, as new brides tend to be, about the epic challenges she would face in a hopeless intervention that will mark 50 years come the 27th of next month. Despite five decades of occasionally intense training, I persist in imparting fingerprint smears to the front panels of the stainless steel fridge, leave piles of clutter on a spare bed, the dining room table and, to a slightly lesser degree, the kitchen counter among an endless litany of offenses great (to her) and small (to me).
On the good side I am trying really hard to mitigate my former habit of leaving dirty dishes in the sink. Then there is the one of which I am most proud; I always put the seat down and faithfully have for 50 years.
She should be eternally grateful to me for that alone. The way I see it, anything more is just gravy.