Mommie Memories

Grandmother: My memories flood my mind when I think about my Mother. She had red hair, lots of freckles, could swear like a trooper, ride a horse, buy cattle and was ahead of her time. This poem sums up what she was and how I perceived her.

Momma

Momma danced the Flamenco on a gravel road.
Flames of Hell framed her face, licked her ears,
prairie grass colored her eyes.

Corralled by the times, angry fingers drummed
against wooden gates, echoed from the hills.
Her pain pierced a daughter's heart.

Whispered aspirations caught by tumbleweeds disappeared into the wind,
crossed open plains, fell upon the daughter's ear.
Her staccato beat wore away rusty chains, opened wooden gates, pulsed
through parched ground into the daughter's veins.

She was the match that lit imagination, prodded and rankled
when embers cooled. Left a long shadow in which the daughter grew.

Momma danced the Flamenco on a gravel road.

I am thinking about you this Mother's Day.

Mom: Well Grandmother certainly pulled out the creative juices for this one! Yup, that's my Mom. That's the strongest memory I have growing up under her guidance. She always was very creative. Back in the days when there were only 2 channels on TV, no computers, no DVDs, no video games, it was a challenge to keep one little girl and two rambunctious boys occupied....not so hard for the little girl because she was an angel to begin with, but those boys...YIKES!

Mom was great at coming up with activities for us to do. She got down on the floor and played jacks with me. She had us sit down and write letters to the current President in office and ask for photographs. I have signed photos of John F. Kennedy and his family and one of Lyndon B. Johnson and his family. Mom would pull the macaroni out of the cupboard and we would glue it to paper and paint it...or in my brothers' case, they would glue it to their hair and each other. Mom always had us making something on those days when we weren't in school and it was too cold or wet to go outside. She taught me to sew, embroider and crochet. She taught me to cook and bake and passed on her bread recipe to me. She tried to teach me how to can dill pickles, but dang it...mine never came out as good as hers.

For as long as I have been around Mom has been busy learning, making and creating. She is a great inspiration, not only for me but for my children. She is my best friend and I love her a bushel and a peck!

Daughter: I agonized about what I would write for this topic. But as I thought about it, I kept coming back to one memory over and over again. It was a birthday.

My mom came to visit me in South Carolina and we went to Charleston (one of my favorite cities) for the weekend. It was just my mom and me. We did the usual Charleston things. We went to the beach, ate seafood, drank martinis and shopped.

But these aren't the things I remember most. When I look back on that weekend, I remember it as a transition in our relationship. My mom wasn't the woman who scolded me when I watched TV while doing my homework anymore, who told me to slow down when driving too fast or who pushed me to better myself in everything I did.

She had suddenly become the person I shared everything with, the one I turned to for advice, the person I wanted to call when something wonderful had just happened. Somehow overnight she wasn't just my mother anymore she was my best friend, my inspiration and the person I aspired to be like.

Everyone told me this is what it would be like when I was younger, but you just never believe it. And honestly, it's one of the best things about being a grown up--having a relationship like this with my mother. I love how our relationship has blossomed and I trace it all back to that weekend.