MUNI THE BOSS

Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about" she always used on us kids.
Mom learned the woman's name was Margaret, and she would be 89 years old this June. Margaret was the mother of two boys and a girl, and her daughter had already passed away.

Margaret thanked my mother profusely for brightening up her holiday, but when it came time for mom to leave Margaret started crying again.

"Don't cry," my mother told her. "I'll come back again if you like. Would you like that?"

Margaret nodded.

"What would you like me to bring you when I come back," mom asked
had planned to get back to writing about Dan's and my educational and very patriotic vacation - yes, here comes the "but," two things happened recently that I just have to tell you about first - one this week; the other next.

As anyone who reads this column knows, I poke a lot of fun at my family, friends and my life in general. Though it might seem that a dark cloud has a permanent spot hovering over my family tree, I feel quite blessed to have so much to laugh about and doubly blessed to be able to share those laughs.

It seems only fair that when there are things that just take my breath away - I should write about them as well.

The first one happened about a week before Christmas. My Mother Teresa - I always laugh when I write that - sings in the choir at St. Dorothy's Catholic Church in Glendora. After the choir performed at a local convalescent hospital, some of the choir members mingled with the residents.

My mother happened to notice that this one elderly woman was silently crying, so she went to her and asked if something was the matter.

"I miss my mother," that woman told my mother.

So mom sat with her, comforted her and held her hand until she stopped crying.

Which is so much better then the gentle
I laughed a little on Christmas Day when mom told me she discovered - the hard way - that Margaret was diabetic. Guess mom should have checked first, but the care-givers did give the OK for Margaret to have a small piece of pie, and besides, mom had brought plates and forks with the intention of sharing.

"When I go back, I'm bringing her a romance novel and some sugar-free candy," mom said. "My new mother said she likes to read, but she has no books."

"You're going back?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," my mother answered. "She likes it when I visit."

I'm still in awe. My 72-year-old mother - a woman widowed almost 19 years - who works full time, keeps an immaculate house, gets up at 5:30 a.m. every morning to walk her aging dog, volunteers at her church, donates to everything and still finds the time to visit a lonely woman who needs a friend.

How lucky am I to have such a wonderful example? Guess calling her my Mother Teresa fits her better than I thought.
Thinking quickly, mom answered, "Well, Margaret, I can't bring you your mother's minced-meat pie, but I can bring you one from Marie Callender's."

That promise made Margaret smile, and mom left.

I listened intently as my mother told me her experience and broke out laughing when she asked me, "So what's minced-meat pie and do you think Marie Callender's would have one?"

Well, I had no idea what's in a minced-meat pie - I wasn't even sure if it was a dessert or a main dish. Even after looking it up on Wikipedia I wasn't sure.

"Are you really going back to see her?" I asked mom.

I mean, for some people - myself included, I'm ashamed to admit - those best-of- intentions, which are so sincere at the time of the promise - fade away with the passage of time.

Not with my mother. Christmas Eve she got up early, ate breakfast and went to Marie Callender's - where she had called and confirmed they made minced-meat pies, and went to see Margaret, whom she's now calling "my new mother."
"What would you like me to bring you when I come back," mom asked.

Margaret said she didn't want anything, just for my mother to come back to visit. But my mother, the quintessential New Yorker, pressed her. She would not dare show up empty-handed for fear of her own mother coming back from the grave and haunting her. New Yorkers - especially Italian New Yorkers - seem to be born holding a bakery box.

Finally Margaret gave mom an answer, "My mother's minced-meat pie."

Thinking quickly, mom answered, "Well, Margaret, I can't bring you your mother's minced-meat pie, but I can bring you one from Marie Callender's."

That promise made Margaret smile OK, the Christmas lights are down, decorations are (mostly) put away, our table-top tree has been hauled away by our waste management's recycle team to be chipped up into mulch and I'm back at my desk.
I had planned to get back to writing about Dan's and my educational and very patriotic vacation - yes, here comes the "but," two things happened recently that I just have to tell you about first - one this week; the other next.