Ramblings from a would be writer

The ABC’s of Moving…

Thought I would try a different approach to writing about the past few weeks…

A ~ auto accident while showing our oldest daughter around our new area… nothing serious, a fender bender for them, a dented passenger door for us.

B ~ broken ribs (five of them) for a good friend of ours who was trying to help us get ready to move in…  he fell off a ladder and is now recovering…

C~ Carpeting that still isn’t ordered as we had planned…. this reminds me of the saying, “We make plans and God laughs”

D ~ Discovering new areas where we live, new shops, new restaurants, new roads to travel

E ~ Energy that is eluding hubby and I.  It’s a hot summer, but, the humidity isn’t near what it was in Charleston.

F ~ Finding things packed in odd boxes, and forgetting that I really thought I was organized a few months ago.

G ~ Grocery shopping in new places and finding that familiar things aren’t always where we expect them.

H ~ Heavy boxes are always the ones that are in the way of the boxes you need to get to.  The heavy boxes move from one place to another and you find that you have to shove them out-of-the-way no matter how many times you move them.

I ~ Insurance agents that you are getting to know quickly after the broken ribs and the fender bender… They are very nice and accommodating…

J ~ Junk drawers… I never thought I had so much useless stuff that I really will need at some point in my life….

K ~ Killing bugs that think they belong in this house… they don’t.

L ~ Little Miss visiting us and making us laugh often.  She is a sweetie.

M ~ Memories that have already started to accumulate in our new home.  I have a happy heart thinking of the people who have already seen this place and I dream of the time when others can be here with us.

N ~ Naps desired… but not many taken.

O ~ Opening box upon box upon box and still not finding the legs to my table that goes on my side of the bed.

P ~ Pool cleaning… poor hubby…. we have had a pool of many colors.  He is becoming well-known at the local pool supply store…  But, it’s getting closer to being the right color….

Q ~ A new quilt bought for our guest room, it is lovely and looks perfect in the guest room.

R ~ Reminders of friends and family fill our new place with reminders of sweet presents we have received through the years.

S ~ A dead scorpion in the guest bathroom… couldn’t figure out why my puppy was growling and lunging until we saw the dead insect on the floor.  Found out they are common in the area, but their sting is no worse than a wasp sting…. I really hope it was the only one I see and that I never experience their sting.

T ~ Tinkering… seeing hubby move from one project to another, happy as can be.  This blesses me.

U ~ Unearthing  gems of landscaping under fall leaves that were never picked up.

V ~ Visiting  local places and seeing whether they will become popular haunts to revisit.

W ~ Wishing that this place was more organized and settled.

X ~  eXcited to be in our own home.  Feeling giddy each time I pull into the driveway.

Y ~ Yearning to be settled.  To be able to walk in each room and find it ready.  I know it will come, I am just anxious for it to be finished.

Z ~ Zeal to be here.  To be home.

The past few weeks have been crazy busy.  But, I have loved each moment spent here.  Hot, sweaty, frustrated, perplexed, giddy with excitement and feeling overwhelmed with the amount of chores ahead of us.  This home is truly a gift for us and we want to prove worthy stewards of this place.  A lot has happened, but, that is truly what makes a house a home.

Thanks for stopping by, DAF


the Mish Mash of a Mother’s Thought Process…

I have read a couple of Mother’s Day posts.  I love reading them.  They also bring to my mind my mixed feelings on this day.  I had wanted to write a post and wax poetic about how my memory of my Mom is so dear to me.  I was then going to go on and be so thankful for my older sister who had the dubious joy (?) of guiding me through my teen years…

But, who am I kidding?  Today at breakfast hubby prayed that we would have productive days today.  Instead of saying amen, I looked at him and immediately spoke (never a good thing).  “Do you think I am not being productive enough getting ready to move?”  This was not a nice question, and I did not ask it in a nice way.  My poor hubby, trying to eat his eggs and sausage in peace and get on with his day of working on his car.

After 40 years of marriage and 5 years before knowing me, he said the right thing, “I was referring to me mostly”.  Wise man.

That was the start of my thinking on Mother’s Day.  That and the Catholic guilt I still carry in me after 60 years of life.  As I dove into cleaning the oven and the racks in the oven, I ruminated about Mother’s Day.  I have shared how I felt as a child on Mother’s Day, but, today I was thinking about the day in general.

I know it is a good thing to celebrate Moms.  You should honor Moms.  They give birth.  They worry.  They yell.  They pray.  They do a lot.

But, with a day of celebration comes expectation.  My first official mother’s day was in 1979.  We were transferring from Japan to Maine.  We were staying at my friend’s home.  She got me flowers.  She made me breakfast.  She spoiled me.  I think I recall hubby getting me a vacuum cleaner.  I think I gave hubby a dirty look.

Many of my mother’s days ended like that.  Me giving hubby a dirty look.   I don’t know why I did that, I’m not HIS mother.

Eventually, I decided that on Mother’s Day, we should do something as a family.  No gifts, no fuss, just family time.  We would go for a ride and then go for ice cream sundaes.  Not bad thinking, really.  Except when you have to drag your pre-teen daughters into a car for a ride.  It’s not always a joy ride at first with two girls in the back seat of a car.  Eventually they mellow out and offer a funny running commentary, but the first half hour is always painful.  Many a time I reminded them not so gently, “Shut up, we’re having fun.”  I may or may not have said shut up.  I know I can look at them and sigh and the meaning comes through loud and clear.

The sundaes should be a wonderful part of the day.  But, there was a long while that I really didn’t care for ice cream.  Yes, I know that is un-American of me, but ice cream was not a favorite of mine.  I knew my family loved ice cream though and if they were happy, I was happy.

As my girls got older, all I really cared for on Mother’s Day was to hear from them.  I didn’t need gifts or flowers or even cards.  But, I loved the phone calls or even the text messages.    I came to the point of wishing I could be stuck in a car with them as they were snarky with each other.

Now, my girls are Moms.  They are going through their determination of what makes a happy mother’s day.  I hope they don’t have a day where they give dirty looks.  I hope they have the right balance of joy of being a mom and the work that is involved in motherhood.   They each bless me in watching them as mothers.  I delight when I see my grandchildren doing things that make them roll their eyes.

No, I think each day gives me a celebration as a mom.  Now, if I could only find some joy in cleaning a rental house that was filthy when I moved in.  But, the guilt in me can’t leave it as is…..  even though it is already cleaner than the day we moved here.

Thanks for listening… DAF


At Long Last… Home…

Home is where the heart can laugh without shyness.

Home is where the heart’s tears can dry at their own pace. ~Vernon Baker

We lived in Downeast Maine during the last year of the 70’s and the beginning of the 80’s.  We had been married five years.

There was another young mother who had a daughter the same age as our oldest.  Several times a week we would put the girls in their strollers and we would walk through the little village of Winter Harbor and climb the hill to walk around Grindstone Neck.  An area that is filled with mansions with large beautiful windows and curving driveways and plush lawns.

We would push our strollers and gaze at these homes.  We would mention what we had heard in passing.  Who lived there, who rented there.  There was one home that had a breakfast nook that overlooked the road.  There were lacy curtains and you could see the breakfast table sitting in the window.  We would both say that one day, we would have a home with a bump out like that.  We would sit in our beautiful bathrobe and eat a soft-boiled egg in an egg cup.  We thought this would be heaven since neither of us had the time to eat a warm piece of toast with our toddlers.

After my morning walks, I would often meet with a couple of other women from the housing area.  One being Little Man’s Nana.  We would sit over tea cups and talk about the day when we would each have our own home.  A home that was not painted Navy gray.  We would sit and dream of sidewalks for our kids to roller skate on or ride their bikes on.  We would dream of being able to paint each room whatever color we felt like.  We talked about having our own yards and plants.

Through the years I have dreamed of a perfect home.  When I was younger, I always wanted a wishing well in the front yard.  I had seen one in one of the housing units on base.  I thought it was wonderful.   I always wanted that bumped out window.  I liked Palladium windows also.  Gazebos were also something I thought would be great.  They look like a fun place to visit.  Flowers, trees, yards, benches, and more trees.  Ah… that would be ideal.

Hubby and I have long thought about the time when we would buy our house to grow old in.  We have talked so much about what we would love to have.  We usually laughed and sighed and admitted that it was up to the Lord as to what He wanted us to have and where He would like us to be.

This past January we traveled up to the upstate region of South Carolina.  We began to look at places we had seen online.  We met with a realtor and he showed us several places.  None of them worked.  None of them sparked in us what we knew would be “the” place.

In February, our realtor called and said he had just been asked to list a property.  He said he thought he had found ‘our’ place, and would we come up to look at it.  So, we packed the dog and the car and headed up once more.

We programmed the address into our gps and drove to the place just to get a sneak peek.  We drove past nice homes, and old broken down barns.  We passed silos covered with ivy and more homes.  We turned onto the street and turned up the driveway.  We parked the car and looked at each other.  We smiled.

The next day the realtor took us inside this place.  We spent two and half hours poking around this place and property.  We smiled more.  We began to think we had found our place.

We returned home, put in an offer and after a brief negotiation, we started the paperwork.  This past Friday we signed the papers and were handed the key to our new home.

As I sat at the lawyer’s table looking at the key, I commented that this little piece of metal represented so much to us.  We spent the weekend there.  We had two camping chairs, the dog’s bed, and an air mattress.  We had the best time!  We worked hard and are tired, but, it is home.  It is filled with a peace that confounds us.

And yes, having taken an inventory of my memories that I have just shared, this house has them all.  A wishing well is standing at the corner of the driveway, complete with a handle that moves.  It houses a hose for watering that part of the yard.  A gazebo graces the front yard, it needs a coat of paint, but, it is going to be a wonderful stage for Little Man and Little Miss to perform on, and it will be a place to sit and sip and talk.   The big palladium window graces the front of the house and it is a modified Cape Cod style that I have always loved.  There is a bump out breakfast area in our kitchen.  I can sit there and watch the birds and the bees pollinate the flowers surrounding the home.  A screen porch overlooks the pool and beyond that is a yard that is surrounded by a couple of acres of trees and a stream.

We are blessed beyond measure.  I am humbled that through my life the little things that I silently mentioned to the Lord He gave to me.  Things that I thought were so far out of the realm of the possible for me have been given to me.  I walked through the house yesterday before we left.  I thanked the Lord for the gift of the house and I prayed for each room.  My prayer now is that this home will be a place of rest, not only for us, but for anyone who needs to  regroup and be restored.

We will be in our rental for another couple of weeks while we paint and do some other things in our new home, and finish getting some things done here in the rental, but, I know hubby and I left our heart in our new home already.

Thanks for stopping by today…  DAF


Kitchen Memories…

Two years ago yesterday we moved to our current home.  We did not like it here.  It was not the house we wanted to be in, yet, we had to move since the owners of our previous home wanted to live there.  We understood why they wanted to be there, it is a great home.

So, anyhow, fast forward two years and I am again neck-deep in boxes.  I really don’t mind and I haven’t wanted to dwell too much on here with moving, although when you are in the middle of it, it is what you think about and ultimately write about.

Yesterday, I jumped into the kitchen.  Determined to whittle down what was in the cupboards to the bare minimal.  We are hoping to close soon and I want to be able to throw what is remaining into a box and have it done with.

I am also sorting as I go.  Pitching things that are way beyond useful and pulling out things that still have life to them to donate.  I confess, I did hold on to a couple of small appliances that truly are past their prime, but still work well, although they do not look good.

But, for the most part, I looked at things critically to decide what went and what stayed.  The thing that spoke the most to me was how often some of these things have been packed.  I wrapped some things that were wedding gifts 40+ years ago.  A cake plate.  Given to us by our best man.  I use it daily, well, it sits on my counter top.  I love it.  The lid that I now put on top of it belonged to another cake plate hubby got me a few years back.  The plate itself didn’t last long, but the cover was heavy enough and it went with the original cake plate.  I wrapped them both and prayed they wouldn’t be broken in this, their last move.

I did this often yesterday.  Picked up a piece and wrapped it, and remembered how long I have had it, what the story behind it was and thought of the moves we have made over the years.

For some of these things, it is the 12th move.  That’s not a large number considering we were military.  But, having stayed in one place for 28 years, it is still a lot of moves.   Memories crowded my mind and kept me company yesterday.  It was an interesting day.   I remember our first ‘official’ move.  The one we did not do ourselves.  The packers came in, they packed things up quickly and then looked around our little apartment.  They wanted to take the furniture, which would have helped us, but, it was a furnished apartment.  We had enough to fill a half of a crate.  Up to that point, we  thought we were overloaded with ‘stuff’.

This move will take a very large truck.  We have a houseful of furniture and a storage shed.  We will most likely take things we shouldn’t.  Things that would be better tossed or donated.  But, we have come to a point where we look at things and see a place and a point to keeping them.  I am hoping it is not weariness guiding us, but, I have a feeling it is.

So, two years after being in this home, I have started to say good-bye to it.  We didn’t start as friends, but, it now echoes memories and laughter and some tears.  It amazes me how packing up a few dishes reveals the heart changes that happen.

Thanks for stopping by, DAF


Sometimes I wonder about myself….

Yesterday while sorting through some boxes, I felt my back rebel.  I immediately stopped what I was doing and sat down.  Today, I was still.  I watched movies for most of the day and had a quiet day.  After watching the last movie, I decided to go online.

This is where I start to wonder about myself.  I went to Facebook and started to answer some messages I had and looked at what people have posted.

The messages were fine.  But… there is a post going around which is creeping me out.  It is the post of the tick nest.  It’s gross.  This is where I should have stopped, but, no, I didn’t.  This is where I begin to wonder about myself.  I thought, we are moving to a rural area.  I bet that area is filled with ticks.

A normal person would just be creeped out and research bug killers.  Not me… no….  I searched tick nests.  Again, I should have stopped there.    I was curious as to what they looked like so that I could see them and take care of them before they got to me.

Warning to everyone reading this…. DO NOT LOOK AT PICTURES OF TICK NESTS!!!   I have never been so grossed out.  I felt like I was crawling with them.  Eww!

So, as I was showering trying to make myself feel normal, I decided to warn anyone who reads this.  Do yourself a favor and learn from someone who should have known better.   The images cannot be erased from your mind.

I knew there was a reason why I like cold weather…  those things don’t survive the cold.

Thanks for stopping by today, I think I need to go spray something….  DAF


Some Days Just Hit You…

Today I had an interesting day.  It started out pretty normal, making fresh juice and coffee.

Hubby has been working on his car, his baby, for the past couple of weeks.  From what he is talking about, I expect it will act like a brand new car and drive incredibly well and be fast.  Of course, it was fast before, and there are claw marks in the dash from me trying to drag my feet, but that is another story.

Hubby went to the shop to work on his car and I proceeded to pack some more boxes and go about my day.  I did manage to get a few more things packed and realized I am very close to being done.  A great feeling for me.

But, what is interesting for me today is the scope of things and people I have talked with today, either on phone, or via Skype or via Facebook.  It was a day that, when it is over, you go, “hmm, what a good time I have had today.”

I had someone talk to me about some issues pressing in on them.  Minor things, but, nevertheless, even minor things can weigh heavy on hearts.  I was blessed that they thought of me to talk with.  I am hoping I, in turn, blessed them.

A friend of mine became a grandparent for the first time.  I am so happy for her and we somehow ended up not fully connecting, but I was able to let her know how thrilled I am for her.  I know this child will be so loved by this woman.  This child will learn much from my friend, she will learn to laugh, to explore, and to love.  This child is so fortunate to be able to call my friend grandma.

Another friend just needed to vent.  I love our venting conversations.  They are honest and full of opinions and laughter and tears.  We talk for long times together, it just works out that way, and even though this conversation was filled with the frustration of the past couple of days, I hung up feeling better in just hearing her voice.

I was able to see Little Man and Little Miss via Skype today.  They make my heart glad.  I love my conversations with Little Man and when he tells me to have a good rest of the day and tells me he loves me, well, that’s the best thing in the entire world for me.

By this time, it was evening, actually night-time.  I answered a couple of more messages and thought over the day.

Throughout this day I also thought of my sister and her family.  Tomorrow marks the anniversary of my brother in law’s death. She mentioned on Facebook tonight about how she feels about the day today and tomorrow.  I admire her in so many ways.  I shed tears in thinking of all she has gone through and yet, she remains the encourager and strength for her family and me.

Days filled like today are few.  So often we go about our days not noticing the life that surrounds us.  I do that often.  Today, lives touched mine.  My heart is full as I write this, and my mind is filled with memories.    I just had to share that.

Thanks for stopping by…. DAF


Long Distance (S)Mothering….

The mother of Little Miss, my oldest daughter, is 2450.92 miles from me.  We are on the opposite sides of this country.

This presents its challenges.   The love of her life is away now, serving this great country of ours.  It is his job, his privilege, and his duty.  I understand this, as I am a retired military wife.  This also sucks.  Especially when you have a six month old.

I have tried since he is away to chat online with her daily.  We Skype so we can see her and talk with her and the baby.  Last night, we were able to Skype with her, Little Miss, and her step daughter who is 8 years old.  We had a good visit.  We gooed and cooed with the baby and I made faces with her step daughter.  It was all fun and games.  We blew kisses and hung up.

My evening was continuing for about another hour.  My phone rang and on the other end of the phone was my daughter.  The one I had just Skyped with.  I hear her voice.  I know something is up.  “Mom, how do you know if a toe is broken?”  This is always a good way to start a conversation.  My mind immediately raced.  Okay, I thought, it won’t be Little Miss, she is too little for anything like this to happen to her.  I was right.  I then asked who the toe belonged to.

My daughter eked out a painful, “Mine.”   I take a deep breath.  Okay, I can do this.  I ask the right questions.  What happened, what does it look like, can you move it, are you in great pain, are your neighbors home?  I ask her to take a picture of her foot and send it to me.

Now, I am not a nurse.  I do not own a  medical license.  The only credential I have are the stretch marks and grey hair that show I have survived motherhood.

I look at the picture of her feet.  The first picture was of both of her feet.  I thought that was smart so I could look at an uninjured foot along with the injured one.    I show hubby the photo.  We look at it and say, it may just be a good stoved toe.

We write back and tell her what we think may have happened.  (Like we would know…)  I then tell her that most people I know who have broken their toes usually end up just having it wrapped.  I tell her I really don’t think that there is much to do for a broken toe.  A broken foot needs a cast and possible surgery.  A toe…   well, in my medical opinion….  (Yes, that and a few dollars will buy you a coffee at your favorite shop).

So, thus began a 24 hour session of (S)mothering her.  I tell her to put ice on the toe.  20 minute on, 20 minutes off.  I tell her to elevate it.  I stress the importance of her staying off her foot.

She went online to see what needed to be done.  Since it was a Friday night, all the neighbors were out.  She was in the house with a six month old and an 8-year-old.  My mother’s heart and mind went into overdrive.  I offer to wake friends and have them come and get her.  I have a list of friends I know that would love to hold the baby and others who would drive her to the emergency room.

I suggest everything I could think of.  Hubby, meanwhile keeps reminding me of her age and her ability to figure this out for herself.  He is worried, but he is also confident that she can handle this.

In my mind, I am in a panic that my baby girl hurts and I can’t be there to kiss it and do something!  Anything!  Get her a cup of tea.  Make her toast.   Prop up her foot.   Anything.

I finally stopped chatting with her and let her get on with her evening.  It was a painful evening for her, but she survived.  I am proud of how she has handled it.  Today, the verdict was in, it’s broken.  It hurts.  But, she will get better.

Meanwhile Little Miss is working on her first tooth.  So both of them are in pain and miserable and me?  Well, I really dislike not being able to (S)mother her up close.    Isn’t there a time when you stop worrying about your kids?  I noticed a few more gray hairs today…  soon I will no longer have gray highlights, it’s just going to be all white!

Thanks for stopping by… DAF


Dinner with Friends…

This evening I was invited to have dinner with a couple of friends.  They wanted to have one more meal together while we were all still in the same town.  I was treated to a lovely meal downtown and I feel special because of their caring.

We are getting closer to moving.  I have packed so many boxes, I think I should be finished.  I’m not and when I look around all I see is more ‘stuff’ that needs to be sorted through.  But, that is not what I wanted to write about tonight.

When we moved here five years ago, I never truly thought about what it would be like to live in a city where I knew no one.  I had lived in San Diego for so long, that I knew people and had friends.  I took that feeling of belonging to someone’s circle of friends for granted.  I still miss those friends, and time and distance has not erased the wish to meet for coffee or walk around lakes.  They are forever etched into my heart.

This evening I had dinner with two women.  One I know and can talk with, but, we have never spent time one on one.  Until this evening when we carpooled to the restaurant.  It was the first time I had actually spent more than five minutes alone with her.  The conversation was easy and fun and I will always remember the drive into town.

The other women was my first friend in Charleston.  When you move, you meet neighbors and they are polite and nice.  They sort of have to be that way, since, after all, you are neighbors.  Then I met people at church, and again, people are nice because, well, they sort of have to be.  I felt that these people were a given.  But, this woman, was my first friend.  She had a conversation with me when there was no real obligation for her to do so.  Of course, she did own a shop and I was in shopping, but, the conversation went beyond that.  I visited her store often and each time the conversations grew in length and fun.  Soon, I was working with her and we would talk the day through, if we could.  I had a friend.

I once wrote a blog post about friendship, I referenced the Girl Scout song, make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.  I mentioned this friend in the link and said that I thought that she would one day move from the silver group into the gold.

This  evening, I realized that this woman has become a golden friend.  We have shared much the past few years.  We have laughed and cried and shopped and laughed some more.  We are both retired military wives and we know what it is like to start over again and again.  We know that distance does not make a friendship disappear.

Our friendship will not disappear, this we know.  But, once more, this evening I felt the pang I have felt so many times in my life.  I have sat at a table laughing and talking only to have the time run out and the last words spoken: good luck; this is a new adventure; and, we will miss you.    All wonderful words, but they hurt the heart when you think of so many friends you have said this to.  I carry in my heart faces of women who have blessed me, laughed with me, propped me up when I could not stand, and made me laugh until I snorted soda, or tea, or coffee from my nose.

So, in the next month I will be in a familiar situation again.  I will meet new neighbors.  We will find another church to attend.  And hopefully, I will find someone who will take that chance to strike up a conversation that will never truly end.

And so dear friend, thank you for the dinner and the memories of a wonderful time spent here in the Lowcountry.

Thanks for stopping by….  DAF


Happy St Patrick’s Day!

This is always a fun day.  I have never gone out and celebrated the day with a bar crawl or anything, but it is still a great day.

I was born into an Irish family.  Our family really hasn’t been in America that long.  I love that fact.  We were raised to be proud of our Irish ancestry.  And, we are.

In our small town there was a north side, south side and the east and west end.  The ends we didn’t pay much attention to, but the North side hailed a few more Irish families and the South side more Italians.  I was raised in the Catholic faith, went to a Catholic school for the first eight years of schooling.

There were three Catholic schools in our town.  There was one on the south side, and two on the north side of town.  From what I have just said, it seems the Italian kids went to the school on the south side and that left the rest of the Catholic kids to the other two schools.  One of the schools was in an area called Palace Hill, we had another name for the hillside, but, I won’t write it here.  This hill was inhabited by mostly Polish families.  It was a wonderful place, and the food that you could smell and get there, Wow!

Anyhow, I digress.  The other Catholic elementary school was St. Joseph’s.  Or, as we called it, St Joes.  It was where the ‘Mick’ kids went.  I went there, for eight years, some wonderful, some, well let’s just say, below par.

Today, I thought of all of this.  I do every year.  We did not grow up in a generation that pinched you if you did not wear green on St. Patrick’s day.  Then, only the Irish wore green.  It was not  a national thing for everyone and their brother to wear green.  So, each year, with my navy blue wool uniform, I would don a pin or a green sweater and knee socks and head to school.  The Polish kids always wore red on St Patrick’s day.  So, at lunch break, here I would be, in my green at my Irish school.  You could always pick me out. I was the tall Irish girl standing in the middle of a sea of red, with my closest friends by the last names of Dolecki, Brzezinski, and Zimoski….  Those are my fond memories of St. Patrick’s day.

I leave you now with my favorite version of the Irish Blessing:

May the Road rise up to meet you.

May the Wind be always at your back.

May you be in Heaven a half hour before

The devil knows you are dead.

Have a wonderful day today, DAF


Happy Birthday Mom…

Today would have been my mother’s birthday.  She would be in her early 90’s.  She died 49 years ago this year, I was 11.

I can remember many things about her, but what always comes to mind, besides her being in the kitchen and singing  and me being underfoot a lot, is sitting on the back porch with her and talking.  I can remember when I was in fourth grade and told her I wanted to become a nun.  Don’t laugh, I really was serious.  I can remember her saying that she would be proud if I did such a thing.  I can remember talking to her about marriage, and her telling me how important it was to marry in the faith (I didn’t), and how she really did not like people who used the local colloquialism of ‘yunz’.  To her, it showed ill breeding.  I chuckle each time hubby says it.  I can see my mom rolling over in her grave.    Many years after her death, I was asked to write something on mother’s for the church’s bulletin on Mother’s Day.   When I was beginning to pack for our move, I found a file of old writings I had done.  I reread what I wrote for the bulletin and decided to share it on her birthday.  So, here is a blast from my past.


A Mother’s Gift

Twenty three years ago, I sat in a classroom watching all the other children make Kleenex carnations for their mothers.  I tried to laugh away the hurt of not having someone to make a flower for, and on the surface, I succeeded.

Years passed, along with my childhood and the ritual of drawing a picture for my father while the familiar carnations were made.  By the time I was an adult, Mother’s Day could pass with nary a thought of it’s importance.

When my children arrived, the day took on a whole different meaning.  Receiving my share of paper flowers in a bouquet or glued lovingly in a card, I would gently caress them when no one was looking and think of the many years that I had longed to make them.

Each year I miss my mother more.  Often I think of gifts I would give her if I could.  Funny, when I was younger, I would always dream of giving my mother a mink coat, believing that somehow that was the epitome of a gift.  Now, when I think of the gifts I would give her, I dream of a conversation over a cup of tea, a hug, or even reprimanding her for spoiling her grandchildren.

After my reverie, what lingers is the fragrance of my mother’s life, cherished lessons that are with me still; a gift of laughter in the face of hardships, a song sung from her heart when times were stressful, and memories that cannot be erased. If I can impart these to my daughters and remember that the gift of motherhood comes from children, then I will count myself blessed.


Thanks for stopping by today, DAF…



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 228 other followers