Mother’s Day was always a meaningful day in my life, but not because of my own mother.  Because of my father’s mother.  She was born on a day in May that fell on or near Mother’s Day.   Each year her family celebrated her birthday on Mother’s Day, no matter what the date of her actual birthday.   Her large clan would all come to her little house, deep in the Valley, to honor her.  Most of them lived nearby, but not us.

We would hop in the back of my dad’s convertible car and head over Coldwater Canyon.  He drove with only one hand on the wheel.   My dad was handicapped and needed his other hand for the controls that were attached to the steering wheel, both the gas and brake in one.  It was very unsteady.  Add to that the sharp curves going over the mountain, his cigar smoke filling my lungs, and his spit flying back into our faces that we tried dodging — well, it was quite the E ticket ride.  (For those born after they were discontinued in 1982, E tickets were for Disneyland’s most thrilling attractions.) (more…)