My mother's hands.

My mum was born in England, almost a hundred years ago now.  She was a great believer in the benefits of fresh air, long walks and hot baths.  She also loved birds.  On Mother's day I usually bought her a plant or plants.  She loved gardening and I inherited that love of gardening from her.  Our favorite outings were to garden centres.  Everytime we visited each other, when she still lived in her own home, we walked around the garden first, looking for new growth.  I miss that the most.

We took Jack for his visit with his father yesterday.  I didn't go well.  There was a lot of shouting and swearing, by both me and my son.  He was angry because he didn't get to do as he pleased and because I served him with papers.  I was angry because he wouldn't wear a mask and because he was so aggressive and belligerent.  It lasted all of five minutes and left me shaking.  

I'm done with him.  We cannot provide supervision for his visits with Jack.  He will have to find another way.  A part of me is very sad and a part of me is very relieved.  We go to court again on Tuesday but we're done.  I have no idea what the future will be like but at this point in time I have no desire to have a relationship with my son.

I just finished reading a book last night about a sociopath called "Best Day Ever" by Kaira Rouda.  At first I didn't like but it draws you in.  It's written from the first person perspective, which is the sociopath, and it's deeply disturbing.  It's a first hand account of a person who lives without remorse, morals or a conscience.  Roughly four percent of the population is sociopathic;  they walk among us, some of them are even related to us.  

But enough about that.  Today is sunny and it's quickly warming up.  Miss Katie is coming over for a visit and then a long walk with the dogs.  Yesterday I baked a pumpkin tart and more cinnamon knots.  I'm thankful my neighbor and her kids like fresh baking.