An older couple was sitting on the patio sipping wine and enjoying the sunset. Out of the blue, she remarked, “I really love you! I don’t know how I could live without you”. ” he asked,”Is that you talking,or the wine?”. Her reply, “That’s me talking to the wine.”
relationships
Time and Again
As I hold my tiny granddaughter, I remember melting into my grandma’s pillowy softness and smelling her Cashmere Bouquet Talcum Powder unaware she’d ever played any role but “Grandma.” Though I’d always heard Mother address her as “Mama” I stung with jealousy when I found out Grandma actually was her mother. I felt as though they’d somehow cheated me by knowing each other first. My first conscious memory was of toddling barefoot behind Grandma as we headed out to see her chickens. I spotted a road-grader and strayed off the path to investigate, stepping into a nest of sand-burrs, those mean little stickers that hide in short grass. I howling as Grandma hurried over with her flat-edged shovel and seated me on it as she pulled the stickers out of my tender feet.
We went on to check on the chickens where Grandma praised Della, her Dominecker Hen for laying a double-yoked egg yesterday, remarking to the others they might consider doing the same. She told Sally not to start acting “Broody.” She didn’t have enough eggs to “set” her yet. She counted her chickens and found Susie missing. Grandma got a long stick and poked under bushes till she flushed Susie out from her “stolen” nest. I felt so important crawling way under the bush bringing ba
ck two warm eggs. Chiding Juanita, a ornerny red hen, she threatened to invite her to Sunday Dinner, saying “You’ll make some mighty fine dumplings if you don’t lay a couple of eggs this week!” I wasn’t that invested in Juanita and don’t recall whether we had dumplings or not.
The barn fascinated me most of all as I peeked through the crack between its chained doors at the child’s table and chairs stored in its mysterious shadowy interior. My grandparents and uncle had only rented the furnished house. The barn and its contents were off limits to me. Nothing could have made it more desirable as I imagined the treasures it held. Surely, there was a tricycle, a wagon, and since it was a barn, of course, a pony! The longer I was denied, the more the list grew. Never was a child so deprived or tormented by desire.
I do hope my little one recalls sweet stories of our our times together one day.
Not Far From the Tree
I recently asked my son if he’d pick me up in the airport upon a return flight if I came into Dallas instead of Shreveport, since I’d been fortunate enough to find a forty-seven dollar ticket. Thinking what a good son he was, since I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, I happily purchased the cheap ticket, telling him I’d email him the gate and time details later, knowing he’d already agreed to the date. A few days later, completely out of the blue, I got this text. “Mom, we are at the airport. Which gate is it?”
I was horrified. Dallas is two and a half hours from Shreveport. Surely I hadn’t somehow given him the wrong date. I tried to return his text. No reply. After a few minutes I got him by phone. He was laughing hysterically, enjoying my panic. Of course, he was just tricking me.
Realizing I owed him, I decided to send him this horrible picture, hoping he’d be repulsed. He certainly deserved it. Instead, I got a return email, asking me if they made matching pants so me, him, and his grandmother could get a matching set.
My apologies to the artist.
True Love
Jerry and JoEllen had been childhood sweethearts. He had Cystic Fibrosis but did really well. He and JoEllen drifted apart while he was in college. JoElllen had left an abusive husband and was struggling to raise two toddlers on her own by the time they reconnected. He was well-established at his engineering firm and anxious to offer JoEllen and her boys a solid life.
Things were going well for them. They were buying a house and planning a wedding when Jerry became jaundiced. He was found to be in acute liver failure as a result of his long and complicated medical history. I met them when it was my privilege to be his nurse. JoEllen never left his side if she didn’t have to. They were such a loving couple. It was heartbreaking to know their future together couldn’t be too long.
When it was obvious Jerry was becoming rapidly worse, they made arrangements to get a marriage license so they could marry before his death. They were married just a day or so before Jerry died, but not before he was able to make sure JoEllen and “his” boys would be well taken care of.
Old Love
Young Love is sweet, but far more precious is Old Love. Nothing warms the heart like an old couple who have weathered life’s assaults and not become embittered. An Old couple laughing as they amble along holding hands warms my heart, knowing that they are probably enjoying the moment. I love seeing old lovers seated at a restaurant, or a park Continue reading
Fathers and Time
I hadn’t seen this picture of my father until recently. He died in 1981. This is so typical of how happy and loving he looked the last few years of his life, once his children were grown and he retired. He was a loving grandfather, endlessly patient and loving. He never tired of his grandchildren. At this point in his life, he couldn’t get enough of his family. I am glad to have this memory.
Too Much Time on Our Hands
We are allowed to burn, so I put a few little scrawny vines that I didn’t want in the compost heap in our fire pit late this afternoon. Bud was catching up on the Civil War and working on his banjo playing when he heard me piddling around. Having very little confidence in my ability to perform simple tasks on my own, he rushed out to save the world, Continue reading
Mother’s Day 2015
As a Mother’s Day tribute, I am printing pictures made over the course of Mother’s life. She is the tiny blonde child in the oldest picture and the lovely woman easily identifiable in the rest. I can only say she is the finest woman and the best mother I have ever known. I love you Mother.
The Things We Do For Our Kids! Guest Post By Cordelia’s Mom
I am so proud to that Cordelia’s Mom did this Guest Post for Mother’s Day. Please check out her lovely blog. You will love it as well.
It was the mid-1950’s. I was in first grade.
Mother’s Day was approaching, and my teacher decided to have us all make noodle necklaces for our moms. She brought in a variety of dry noodles, along with string and water paints – and wrapping paper. I was so proud of my creation! Mom was going to love it!
On Mother’s Day, I watched my mother open her precious gift. She oohed and aahed, and put the necklace around her neck. I was so happy to see her wear it that day – I thought it was the most beautiful jewelry she ever had.
My mother didn’t work (back then, few did). Her only recreation was going bowling once a week in a league with other mothers.
Her annual bowling banquet was the week after Mother’s Day. I watched my mother dress in her most beautiful (to me) outfit, high heels and all. As she started to reach toward her jewelry chest, I told her she should wear the necklace I made because it was better than anything she had in that jewelry chest. And she put that necklace on and left the house for her banquet. I was so proud!
Fast forward approximately 25 years. I was now a young mother whose girls often brought me hand made gifts. One Sunday, I was visiting Mom, and we got to discussing little girls and how to raise them. The subject of the noodle necklace came up. I chuckled and told Mom that I was sorry I made her wear that necklace to her banquet, and that I now understood that she probably took it off as soon as she was out of eyesight.
There was a silence as my mother thought fondly back to that day. Then, she told me:
“No, I didn’t. I wore it all evening and told all the other mothers that my little girl made it for me.”
And that’s how I learned to be a mother. Mom was tough when it was called for, but she loved her kids and made sure that we all knew that.
Mom once read about a father who told his child, “You are my favorite, but don’t tell your brothers and sisters because it would hurt their feelings.” After the old man died, the kids were comparing notes and discovered that he had made that statement to each and every one of them. Mom thought that was a wonderful way to make a child feel special – and while neither she nor I ever tried it with our own kids, we both understood the philosophy behind it, and tried to love each child in the way that child needed to be loved. I know she succeeded; I hope I did, too.
Happy Mother’s Day! If you have children, give them hugs from me. If your mother is still alive, give her a kiss on her aging cheek. And if you are a mother, may you be showered hugs, kisses and homemade gifts from your own children.
Thanks, Linda, for allowing me to guest post for you today. I will hold you to your promise to reciprocate on my blog!
I love to hear from my readers. You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com.
Image by Cordelia’s Mom
Nutsrok 