The perfectly imperfect mother
I wear my mother’s perfume from time to time. And when I say her perfume, I don’t mean the scent she wore. I mean the scent my well-meaning father bought for her, despite the fact that I never, ever...
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There she is. My mom. I’ve written about my relationship with my mother previously. She was a strong woman, an iron lady of sorts. Ahead of her time. An executive when women were not. The primary...
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