My Mother is Dead, Her Cookies Live on in Story.

Humorous family anecdotes for the win.

Illustration by Dan Boyd and Ai Collab. (YES I assisted with the hands.😁🖐🏻)

I like to joke about my mom trying to kill me. The car incident, the murder bed she bought, the mysterious case of the poisoned Coke can. Etc etc.

She’s gone now, born on Halloween, died on Labor Day she was a festive mystical woman. And me, born lucky, I’m still here. Couldn’t have asked for a better arch nemesis.

Her main source of attack, the classic guilt trip, is insidious because when it’s not a full frontal assault, it’s sneaking in through your brain’s backdoor, anticipation. Once you’re guessing when or how it’s going to launch, it’s already got you.

The Cracking of the Coal Cookie Incident.🔍

Photo courtesy of the Boyd Family

(Which of my friends took this photo?)

I was in middle school, having a time with the boys in the backyard, just before Ohio’s golden hour. The adopted Justin Shank, brainy Mike DeRan, our goalkeeper Matt Kraut, and a few other red shirts from my childhood. (You know, the kids who were always there but when you meet up years later, no one remembers their names.) Sweaty, or soaked…