The watermelon baby carriage, carved for my niece, Amy, was a showstopper at the baby shower. (photo by Chris Erskine)

Means a lot to me that folks come from far and wide for these simple hikes we hold. As I was telling Robin, one of Saturday’s hikers, I usually feel an afterglow that lasts well into the next day.

It’s the same afterglow I feel after attending a great concert, or seeing the home team rally in the ninth.

The afterglow also seems to happen socially, when I hang with old buddies, or make new buddies, as we did Saturday at this Happy Hour Hiking event, weaving through the quiet horse paths of Descanso Gardens.

Oh, before I forget: Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Without a mother, none of us would be here. Due to her passion, her sense of duty, her outsized love, we’re all here.

Maybe you only got one of the three from Mom: the passion that sparked your very existence. But isn’t that a little godly in itself? Aren’t all mothers a little godly – these starbursts, these gatekeepers of human life?

So, around our house, Mother’s Day is a sacred experience. I always splurge on the good steaks, and the Alaskan salmon.

Reference point: a lavish Borgia wedding.

This year, Mother’s Day seems especially resonant. There is a starburst of babies among friends and relatives (Amy, Alexa, Claire, Molly, Emily, Melanie, Taylor, Olivia, Scarlett).

Bravo!

Forget “The Year of the Horse,” as per the Chinese zodiac. To me, it’s “The Year of Bright-Eyed New Mamas.”

With many more to come. Stay tuned!

Check out the watermelon baby carriage.  My niece’s husband carved it for her recent baby shower.

Obviously, the dude’s a Da Vinci, except he works in berries and fruit. You can see the love involved … the devotion. You look at that watermelon baby and think: “Danny has the makings of a Hall of Fame dad.”

And before he knows it, 30 years fly by and he’s making toasts at a wedding. Then grand babies arrive. Yikes!

Grandkids are the universe’s reward for everything.

You should’ve seen me the other day making faces with my own grandson, Puddles. He has the comedic chops of a Soupy Sales, a Shecky Greene.

The 18-month-old can screw his face up into little fists, or go deadpan when you least expect it.

In my book, that genius. That’s godly.

By the way, what’s with me and all this recent God talk? Have I maybe joined the clergy?

The answer: Nope. Not with my SATs.

Suzanne teases me about this rash of spiritual references, since she knows that I have far more questions than answers.

Maybe, as we get older, we become more desperate for encores. Maybe we’re finally reading life’s fine print.

Look, don’t ask me. I haven’t even gotten myself figured out. As a funnyman once said, “I’m not for everyone. I’m barely for me.”

By the way, I’d like to announce the title of my next book, “Press a Little Harder.” It’s based on the safety cap on toilet bowl cleaners.

As you know, the twist-open caps can be quite difficult. So you press the toilet cleaner tabs a little harder, almost to the point of torture. And then it works.

Like life, I suppose. You press harder – almost to the point of torture.

And then it works.

Of course, a lot of folks will assume that “Press a Little Harder” is a collection of sex tips. Sure. Whatever.

Because the advice applies to everything. If you’re not getting the results you want, merely press a little harder – almost to the point of torture.

Certainly, this applies to motherhood. Or, home repair, careers, elevator buttons and budding romance.

Frustrated? Confused? Just press a little harder.

Of course, sometimes you need to press a little less. In those cases, you back off, lighten up, let life take its course.

There are moments for that, you know, when you just have to step back and chill, to give your kids the space to fail or flourish. In the end, it’s really up to the individual to either fail or flourish, with a mama’s magic nudge.

Do you ever feel that too, even after she’s gone: a mother’s nudge to do well, keep trying no matter what?

A mother’s nudge fuels our very human hearts. It’s life’s secret sauce, the stuff of Da Vinci.

In the end, we are our mother’s legacy. She lingers in the work we do, the songs we write, the children we raise.

Oh, you mamas and your magic nudges, your astonishing afterglow.

Happy Mother’s Day!