Wyo Sal: Call Your Mother

We talk about books, and about family. She shares news about her nephews and nieces, my cousins and their children. Without Facebook, she knows more about them than I do, because she still has real phone conversations and writes real letters.

She can’t wait to volunteer on Election Day. Barring a Wisconsin snowstorm, she will drive herself, in her brand-new car with too much technology. And she has already arranged for a ride home, because it will be after dark.

She is strident in her beliefs, political and otherwise. She listens to other opinions, but isn’t swayed. She is a rock.

She says all men talk inappropriately when they are with other guys, and that the better choice is someone who doesn’t lie and do dishonest things. My mother sees everything in black or white. There is not much overlap of the two, not much grey there. Yet she is beyond a doubt the most compassionate woman I know.

She says the people who count know the truth, and those who are hypocritical are worried more about themselves than our country.

There are no skeletons in her closet. No 11-year-old entertainment videos. No emails sent on an insecure server. She writes letters to the editor on yellow legal pads. When her hometown newspaper ill-advisedly imposed an email-only edict, she raised some hell and got them to accept hers anyway.

She knows what she knows and no one is going to change her mind.

And somehow, especially now, that seems like a completely perfect way to be.

Call your mother. It cures everything.

Wyo Sal is a Catholic mom and grandma and works full-time at a job that still usually overwhelms her. She loves football and food and books. She hopes to win the lottery some day.