“Her moodiness...” my mother says in a loud whisper to Aunt Arlene. “It's those teenage hormones.”
I glare at the back of her head. She'd be moody too if she were responsible
...
[+]
I picked up Mom’s ashes at the funereal parlor and took them home. My brother Donny was there. We’d have our little ceremony before we scattered her ashes.
Mom was Irish, a real lady, but she liked her Guinness.
Donny lit a couple of candles; I got out two bottles of Guinness and glasses. We set the urn in the middle of the table and prepared to drink a toast to Mom. I had a thought.
“Shall I pour a little in there for Mom?” I nodded at the urn
“Better not, or we’ll never get her out of there.”
Mom was Irish, a real lady, but she liked her Guinness.
Donny lit a couple of candles; I got out two bottles of Guinness and glasses. We set the urn in the middle of the table and prepared to drink a toast to Mom. I had a thought.
“Shall I pour a little in there for Mom?” I nodded at the urn
“Better not, or we’ll never get her out of there.”