Florence at her mother's apartment in Knickerbocker Village
These days, I am amused at the accolades on Mother's Day that often include the passing down of make-up tips and the special shopping trips for new clothes.
These were not the gifts Florence gave my sister or me. And although I inherited her love of lipstick, it's what is not found in a tube or a store that reminds me of my mother. It is, instead, a ferocious, unending, tenacious, gut wrenching, miserable exhaustion, banging-head-against-wall, exhilarating 'til-death-do-us-part relationship with the work of an artist.
Personally, there are days I would have been just fine with a new dress or some blue eyeshadow.
The Drinky Dozen - The Twelve Bars Of 2020 - January: Mike’s Tavern - [image: 1. toptitle_1-22-20.jpg] *It’s a brand new year and decade, so I thought I’d start a new monthly series here at MBIP. I’m going to spotlight a cla...
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