30 Sunsets

I'm a bad daughter. I'm the prodigal daughter. I hardly ever call my mother. I rarely write. I forget to buy and mail birthday or Mother's Day cards (although I do call). Yet, when I come home to visit, I am welcomed with open arms and only a modicum of guilt.

My poor sister. She calls every week faithfully (even though Mom doesn't answer the phone half the time). She sends letters and cards and always remembers the important dates. But when she visits she gets all kinds of attitude and guilt and pouty behavior.

I don't know why this inequality exists. I swear I don't encourage it. I can't change that I was born last or stayed at home the longest. Whatever the reasons Mom has for treating us this way, I try not to dwell on them. I know it's not due to anything Katie or I have done in the past. We were good kids. These are strictly her issues. Except lately I've been feeling a little guilty. I love my Mom, don't get me wrong. I love her dearly, no matter how crazy she may be. I'm just bad at keeping in touch. Really, I have a friend I haven't spoken to in a year and it's not due to anything he said or did, or anything I said or did. It's just that I got busy and didn't call or stop by and pretty soon it was six months later and we haven't spoken and I feel weird calling him now. But I digress--and you're wondering about the title, right?

I was feeling a little guilty. Mom, in all her craziness, is still my mother. She raised me the best she could and what have I given her in return? Nothing. So, I'm writing her letters. Lots and lots of letters. 30 of them, to be exact. In each letter, I'm including a picture of the sunset of the day. I started yesterday and will culminate on Thanksgiving day with my obligatory phone call.

I decided to share the sunsets with you all, just because. So here is yesterday's sunset.

I was hard to get a really good shot with my Fuji digital. This doesn't do it justice. It was beautiful and red (from the fires).