My mother grew up in the Depression. Her generation had to work for everything they got, and no one worked harder than my mother. Idle hands were not her thing. She was always busy doing something: refinishing furniture, braiding rugs, or digging for Indian artefacts. That didn’t count the part-time jobs or the time she put in running the household. Gardening was her passion, a shovel and wheelbarrow her constant companions. Life blossomed wherever she went. Through her example, we learned how to live a rich and full a life while never forgetting our responsibilities. Thanks, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.