I brought my Mother home today, in her beautiful handcrafted urn. ( A combination of subtle brown wood tones).The guy at the funeral home asked: "How are you?" and I said,"I'm pretty good!" to which he replied "No you're not." What???Hand over my Mother and let me flee your department store of death!

It was a typical grey, cold New England winter day. I had a ton of stuff to do. I shopped, and this week when I shop I tend to go into a reverie; in fact, everything I do is done in a sort of reverie like time is moving like molasses, and it doesn't matter. (Molasses is a beautiful shade of brown.)

I seem to bounce between being overwhelmed with love for humankind and annoyed by everyone I encounter. This is only slightly different from how I was before my mother died. I guess there were pauses before. Now it's a series of sixty second snit cycles.

I recalled that, as a kid, my favorite color was brown. Did this have anything to do with my abounding love for all things equine? Probably. And brown is a very awesome color, as it has so many personalities. Of course, in fourth grade, when asked by the teacher to say your favorite color and why, well, brown made me look weird. I was already so far down that path it didn't matter, but it didn't help either.

I went from brown to black. There was no such thing as a tween then. We went from children to horrible and then college. I started wearing all black when I was thirteen. It wasn't rebellious - it just appealed to me. And my mother, who loved her gardens (a trait I have inherited), and dresed so smartly and with a lot of color, must have been dismayed by this only daughter of hers turning away from anything feminine. In fact, it got so pronounced that she thought I might be a lesbian, and gave me a copy of "Surpassing The Love of Men", about "romantic friendships" in history. I am the only person I know who had to come out straight.

At some point, and I can't recall exactly when, but probably before I switched from brown clothes to black, my mother "chose" colors for each of us. Stewart got red, Alan got blue, Douglas got green and I got purple. This meant that sheets, towels, you name it - all came in "your" color. And she was a crafty lady, so she crocheted afghans in your color, and braided rugs in your color, and sewed crazy doo-dads in your color.

We discussed it while holding vigil at her bedside last week - what prompted her to make those choices? I had said to her, at Thanksgiving: "Well, you kind of chose purple for me, but over time I really grew to like it!" Which evoked some laughter, but is very true. I don't know what I would have picked out for myself - probably not black towels, but who knows? So, she added color to my life. She brought color to my life. I was very colorful in her life, too. But I'll save that for another time.

Today has been a hard day. I'm at her house, and I just finished wrapping all the presents she bought for the grandkids. Pink, purple, and dark blue for my nieces and nephew - their choices. I'll see them tomorrow, on her birthday. That's our tradition. I have had to open the boxes from Lands End et.al. and try to determine what is for who. For me? A beautiful light cotton sweater in deep purple. Thanks Mom! And Happy Birthday.

Happy Whatsmas to everyone on OS. All my love, Alison