Sometimes, I really miss my mother, but most of the time, I don't.
At first, that may sound like a harsh statement. Basically along the lines of Moms Mabley say "you should only speak good of the dead. She's dead. Good." But, it's not. It's a statement of faith. Why? Because, she comes around when I need her.
The other day, I was working at home, packing stuff up to send to auction. I'm downsizing and just need to let go of stuff. Stuff shoved in closets. Stuff shoved under the bed. Stuff shoved in a locker in the basement. I just need to lighten the load. While doing this, I was talking to my mother. Asking if it was okay to send this off. How about these? How about these old cards? Can I throw them away? And trust me, I heard her response. She was there. She stops by when I need her.
I don't spend a lot of time missing my mother. I spend more time wondering what's she's doing. My mother was an active person with lots of interests, so I'm sure she's not bored. I'm sure she's got a very active schedule, just like she did in life.
Maybe she's sitting at a old barn loom, weaving away on a blue and white coverlet. Maybe she's spinning some wool which she'll later put into a brass dye pot that has a vat of dried cochineal or maybe logwood. And wondering what shade of red or purple it will produce.
Maybe she's baking in a dutch oven and keeping an eye on the pot of stew hanging on the crane. The well-used hearth of brick in a home built in the 1820s. Maybe Helen H. or Peg H. or Warren will stop by for a visit and a cup of steaming tea.
Maybe she's reading a Frances Parkinson Keyes or a Danielle Steele novel. Or maybe she's knitting a new scarf from earlier dyed wool while watching one of her favorite shows like Murder, She Wrote or Perry Mason or Matlock. Or maybe she's just hanging out with my father at the trailer in the camp grounds.
Hmmm... I wonder. I sometimes wonder what is my mother doing right now?
CSM
At first, that may sound like a harsh statement. Basically along the lines of Moms Mabley say "you should only speak good of the dead. She's dead. Good." But, it's not. It's a statement of faith. Why? Because, she comes around when I need her.
The other day, I was working at home, packing stuff up to send to auction. I'm downsizing and just need to let go of stuff. Stuff shoved in closets. Stuff shoved under the bed. Stuff shoved in a locker in the basement. I just need to lighten the load. While doing this, I was talking to my mother. Asking if it was okay to send this off. How about these? How about these old cards? Can I throw them away? And trust me, I heard her response. She was there. She stops by when I need her.
I don't spend a lot of time missing my mother. I spend more time wondering what's she's doing. My mother was an active person with lots of interests, so I'm sure she's not bored. I'm sure she's got a very active schedule, just like she did in life.
Maybe she's sitting at a old barn loom, weaving away on a blue and white coverlet. Maybe she's spinning some wool which she'll later put into a brass dye pot that has a vat of dried cochineal or maybe logwood. And wondering what shade of red or purple it will produce.
Maybe she's baking in a dutch oven and keeping an eye on the pot of stew hanging on the crane. The well-used hearth of brick in a home built in the 1820s. Maybe Helen H. or Peg H. or Warren will stop by for a visit and a cup of steaming tea.
Maybe she's reading a Frances Parkinson Keyes or a Danielle Steele novel. Or maybe she's knitting a new scarf from earlier dyed wool while watching one of her favorite shows like Murder, She Wrote or Perry Mason or Matlock. Or maybe she's just hanging out with my father at the trailer in the camp grounds.
Hmmm... I wonder. I sometimes wonder what is my mother doing right now?
CSM
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