Recently, I noticed something that would have made Mo smile.

She was never really into numbers or followers or anything like that. She hated the word ‘followers.’ That is why she preferred to call all of you friends as ‘sweeties.’

It did, I believe, astound her when she noticed it, the number of sweeties that at one time or another elected to keep track of her. She was astounded that guys would even pay attention much less come back to check on her.

I noticed her Tumblr number just cracked 37,000.

Youall totally blew her away, before. This would absolutely stun her.

She told me she knew all of those didn’t keep daily track of her thoughts and ideas or the other things that she so loved to share, but she was pleased as punch with the fact that a lot did and that there were a small number that were ardent corespondents. She loved that. And in her way, she loved you.

Thank you for being her sweeties in whatever way you were and for however often you checked on her.

I just ran across this pic in Mo’s archives. I know a lot of you have seen it but it really hit me hard when I saw it again.

It is just so… Mo.

She would come greet me in my car and would make my heart pound out of my chest.

Sitting here thinking about Mo. I know I shouldn’t do it, but I am drawn to it, helplessly.

And then I look at her pictures and I think about the millions of times that she has given me such an amazing experience, either by actual involvement with her, or just being near witnessing her doing what she did so well.

I am powerless not to do something.

Mo wore this cover a lot.

A couple more pics that Mo left behind for me and us.

She was such a different lady. She never ceased to amaze me how, if she was around guys that treated her nicely, she shared so much of herself.

If a guy was cordial and gentlemanly and expressed an interest in her as a person and appreciated her wit and intelligence, she would try to make sure he or they would have something that they might remember.

It has been a while. I have tried to leave you alone. I am afraid I am slipping.

I miss Mo. It seems more every day. I have never felt like this in any previous life.

Today is the original day that Memorial Day (Decoration Day) was observed and Mo felt strongly about it. So, in her honor, I am posting one her past posts from this day, in her memory.

Though she received criticism for it on occasion, Mo was intensely patriotic and she held servicemen in the highest regard.

I believe she tolerated me because of my time in the service albeit it being nothing compared to what many endured. I was one of the luckiest.

Mo had extra special regard for those whose lives were in terrible peril. Her reverence for those that gave their lives for the country were deeply embedded in her heart.

Memorial day was a day she observed with the greatest solemnity and I would be remiss were I to not follow her lead in honoring their ultimate sacrifice.

——in digging around, I found a few more of the things Mo wrote but apparently never posted. Here’s one. Just an example of her thought process.

——friend

Back to the topic of “The White Lotus.”

(Ha. You thought it was over. No way, mon frere.)

I try to see inside each of the characters.

Try to find their motivations. Their wants and desires.

And then I play the game, does this match me or is it my antithesis?

I try to divine the motivation of the writer and see if this character was supposed to meld with me or revolt me.

So many shows, most of them, have no impact that way on me.

Most of the old movies, the noir movies that I watch, many with Buddy, have no emotional impact on me, at least to this depth.

It is what separates, at least to me, something meaningful and everlasting from the “have I already seen this? I don’t really remember”

These wonderful gems will be with me.

Hopefully forever.

Mo, when she was at home by herself, like to hang around in an old T-shirt.

She felt her new neighbor appreciated the image seeing her walking around in the yard like that or when he came over to visit for coffee or whatever.

Over the course of an evening or during the day, she would send me a note that said “wanna see?“

And she would pull the front of her T-shirt down and give me a picture of those beauties.

She knew what I liked.

I sure did.