Today would be Marilyn’s ninetieth birthday. This is the good, much-used Le Creuset she brought to my California home shortly before she was taken to Oregon, never again to live in California.

I cleaned this frying pan carefully yesterday so that I could cook something in her honor today. I haven’t seen it since we moved here nearly six years ago. What should I cook – zucchini? Swedish meatballs Italian meatballs? I haven’t decided yet.

Marilyn was smart, and creative although she often denied it. She could write. She could cook, and took a cooking class taught by a soprano in our church choir. She loved music, especially, I think, musical comedy, folk music, and light classics. And she could sing!

She was bitter, and could be cold. She had her reasons, I imagine. She was a mom, chaffeur, housewife. She struck out on her own bravely when she found herself single and no longer young.

She liked animals and enjoyed watching them and spending time with them. She loved to read, and read many historical novels.

I remember her most clearly doing crossword puzzles and the daily Scramble, lighting fires in her fireplace, watching Ellen on TV or her video of My Fair Lady, and laughing. She had a wonderful laugh.

She was beautiful. She was our mom.