On my mom's birthday, here are a few things she would want, but won't be getting.
1. Me, engaged.
2. An excited phone call from Chuck, screaming the word "CROWNING!"
3. For me to write a nice novel about nice people who don't swear, that gets nice reviews, makes a nice chunk of money, and does not include a character that bears any likeness to her. Especially not a caricature that bears a likeness to her.
4. Special council with the pope.
5. For me to move back to Rochester. Or at least consider driving south of Mesaba Avenue.
6. For me to wear something clean, fitted to accentuate the positive and eliminate the negatives of my body, from the women's department. It counts as a Christmas gift, too, if it doesn't have a hood. A life gift pass if I'm also wearing a bra.
7. A handwritten letter from a Roman Catholic priest telling her that they have been pleased to add me to the congregation. That I sing like a lark, and never eat an hour before taking communion. That I handled Lent with Olympic-levels of deprivation, and always have coins for the collection plate.