A mother - a writer once said to me Do what will endure because she was of love and of good humor because she was of joy and caring for un-met friends. I tried. Now I write and play with my child who knows not of dirty dishes in the sink, unmade beds, bathtub ring, of dust collecting on oak and maple, of records clothed in other jackets, but gives me of herself her toothless smile and sometimes of her oatmeal.