This has been a week of things popping up in my feed that remind me of stories and happenings from my past.
First; southern funeral custom. Second; Swans.
My mother recounted that when I was about 2-3 years old, she and my dad packed up food, utensils, and me and drove across town to a church picnic. It was held in a park with a lake full of swans.
Swans can be mean.
My mother had just painted her toenails a bright red, and was wearing sandals. As we ate our picnic food, one of those swans came along and began pecking at her big toes.
It pecked and pecked. Then, it invited its friends.
Those swans chased my mother all over the park, trying to get at her toes. They must have thought they were berries.
She ended up having to eat her lunch in the car. In July. In the sweltering heat.
With a bunch of swans just waiting on her to open the door.