Mutti's Day

I returned from Nashville on Friday - just in time to celebrate Mutti's day. My favorite German always insists on the Olive Garden but instead I took her for Vietnamese at a small brownstone down the street. I know, I know - it's Mutti's day and I should take her where she wants to go but I figured I was doing her a favor. No lines at Hai Au and healthier portions. Besides, I promised her Italian next weekend.

Mutti works hard. She's a nurses aid for a couple in their late 80's living in a uber-large mansion in Loudonville. Unbeknownst to them, it's probably worth a fortune to the right investor. She's out the door by 6am and sometimes doesn't return until midnight. She's from the Vaterland (anti-nazi), born during the war, escaped the Russian front in 1943, fled to Bavaria and returns every September to Stuttgart to see her remaining family. She and her 5 siblings grew up with dirt floors on empty bellies with little education and at 13 yrs. she even took a part-time job caring for deaf children to help her parents. She's had several insignifigant jobs all her life but she's devoted 110% to every one of them and approaching 63 she doesn't seem to be slowing down much.

Mutti and I are as stubborn as they come and we seldom agree on much but I love her dearly - german roots and all. And if I ever slow down myself I'll write a book about her - her and Sarge. And with the Puliter prize money I make, I'll take them both out to the Olive Garden.