When we were in San Diego last month, Aunt Susan told me she had something for my mom, something she'd pulled out of the dumpster and stored out back for her.
This, to be exact:
A custom-made wooden slalem ski. Isn't the logo amazing?
We cleaned it up and hung it on the wall. It's not like we could send it in the mail, so we might as well enjoy it. I've told Mom that it's waiting for her if she wants it, but Toben loves it and has declared she's gonna have to fight him for it. Indian leg wrestling maybe?
Why a water ski for my mom?
Susan knows how much we love to ski every summer at the lake (of the Ozarks in Missouri, that is--Osage Beach, to be exact) and that my mother is a fabulous skier. (Kristen and I are sure it's in the genes, since we aren't too bad either and always get up on the first try.)
Mom learned on the bayou in Louisiana when she was a kid, so she had to good. In my mind, she learned to ski fast and well and not fall down so she wouldn't be eaten by the 'gators I imagine were here, there, and everywhere just waiting to eat her for lunch.