What would my mother do?

Sometimes, when I'm in a really tough spot and I just don't know what to do, I think about my mother.

My mother was ninety-one when she died, eleven years ago. She didn't go to college , though I've always thought she should have; but she was wise in a way I would like to be. When she was presented with a problem, she would get to the heart of the matter in seconds. No hesitation; no long, drawn out analysis; no carefully worded delivery, often to the dismay of those on the receiving end.

The dynamics between mothers and daughters are not always smooth, especially when both people are strong and outspoken. Of course, we had our clashes over the years, probably more than I want to recall. But now, when I really want her advice on matters of the mind and heart, I can only surmise what she might say. And, amazing as it sounds, if I go with that imagined advice, I usually do the right thing.