Thursday, October 29, 2009
Some years ago Pearl Bailey recorded a song titled, "Mama, a Rainbow." The lyricist wrote of unique presents he might give his mother...some gift to surpass all those that had gone before. His ideas were imaginitive and mostly impossible. Thinking of that old song prompted me to make a list of my own.
How wonderful it would be to hand Mama a reservoir of liquid sunsets to swim in whenever she pleased. Or, be able to hand her the reins of a diamond-saddled silver charger to carry her to Camelot, or Shangri-la. What about a golden door, always open, to that ever-blooming Secret Garden? Or, consider one perfect, cobalt blue and star-strewn night for Molther to fall asleep curled up in the hand of God; with a dream of girlhood to go with it; a dream so real a pale blue ribbon from yesterday would be on her pillow in the morning, along with the scent of Lily of the Valley. And years! Oh , yes! I would give her lots of extra spun-gold, carefree years.
All of us would like to see our mother's eyes shine with joy at whatever we choose to give her on Mother's Day, or her birthday. Because if we are blessed enough to still be able to look at her beautiful face we want her to know how very much we love her.
In my mother's case it is doubly difficult to find a gift because she is ...not an average woman. For years I had my suspicians and they were confirmed not long ago when she informed me she needed to shop for a black leather out fit. Surely I hadn't heard her correctly, "Black leather?"
"Yes, a jacket and a pair of pants."
"Oh, you mean for one of the grandkids?"
"Now Audrey, which one of the kids could possibly need an outfit like that?"
Who indeed? And yet it was an ensemble my 89-year-old mother deemed a must-have for her wardrobe. Quickly, I looked at this lady who brought me into the world. It was she alright."You want to purchase leather pants and a jacket?"
That's right with silver buttons and lots of fringe."
The matriarch of our family is as alert, concise and witty as she has always been, and it never entered my mind to think she had slipped a cog overnight. "Mother,what is all this about?"
She glanced sideways at me, lifted her head a few inches and answered, "I'm riding with the gang."
This was sounding serious--maybe even dangerous. I began to recall the fact that my mother had always been a brave individual. She had many daredevil childhood exploits to her creditm and when I was a baby one of Mom's favorite pastimes was doing barrel rolls over P:uget Sound in an open-cockpit, two seater plane. (As a passenger.)
With a little more prompting I learned my little 5'1" grey-haired mama had been riding with a Christian motorcycle club associated with her church. She loved it! No, she didn't drive, but sat behind the driver. They all wore black leather with silver buttons and lots of fringe. She just want to fit in.
Mom is quite well known in our rural community and surprisingly everybody loves her. I say, "surprisingly" because, as I mentioned before she is a one-of-a-kind, strong-willed female, and a mother in eveny DNA corner of her determined body. She is still perfectly comfortable threatening me and all of creation with the disciplinary wooden spoon. Happily, most of us can finally out-run her.
By the way I discovered that perfect gift for her and every mother. Mom is the one who told me what it is. We have it with us day and night, even though it's priceless and precious. Everyone of us has an allotment of it and yet it can't be seen, held or saved. It is continuously passing through our fingers and when it's gone, so are we. We can't hang on to it, but we can throw it away. Shakespeare called it, "...an inaudible and noiseless foot."
Yes, it's , TIME, the invisible commodity our mother's want from us more than anything. If we are still so blessed as to have our mother's here, and it is possible, go spend a day of minutes with your mom.
Sometimes I write fiction...this isn't and my mom is everything I've related here...and lots more.
She passed on to be with her Lord 2 years ago at 94 years of age.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Two of my grandchildren, knowing that I am a writer,wanted to know how to write a story. My first inclination was to suggest we wait for another time. It was really an excuse but, an idea came to me and it led to an interesting undertaking.
Connor was 13 at the time and Katie was 9. They liked the challenge I gave them, and, although it isn't completed as yet, and may never be, they always remember that it is here.
It began with me writing a sentence out of my head; "The young man was on the beach when he saw the big dog fighting the waves, trying to get to shore."
Next I ask Connor to add another sentence. At first, he found it difficult but came up with, "And, to the amazement of the boy a dolphin appeared and guided the exhausted dog almost to his feet."
Now, it was Katie's turn. She took some time and finally added, "The young man sat, a little big shaky and a little bit afraid as the big German Shepherd loped past him towards the forest behind them."
My turn again and I felt as if I had "painted myself into a corner." However, I was able to add, "As he turned to follow the dog, his father's high-pitched whistle called him home."
This time Connor managed this sentence. "After lunch he talked his father into returning to the spot on the beach where he first saw the dog."
It ended with Kate's last entry, "No matter how long they searched, there were no dog prints, only the boy's."
Starting out to be quite a mystery isn't it? It has never been added-to since the week-end they both spent with me, but, hopefully they gained some knowledge about writing and imagination. They both know I still have the beginning of, "The story," and ask about it frequently. Maybe it will never be finished, because it will take all 3 of us, but then...you never know.
(the beautiful German Shepherd on this post belongs to my daughter, Cheryl, and her name is, Akeera)
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
codes with her and never looked back.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Let me tell you a perfect example from my past.
We left Southern California in the early evening, my new husband, my mosquito bites. and I, enroute to the Pacific Northwest. The bites had been acquired during a fishing trip a few days before, and were now itching something awful.
I had worked for eight hours, the last day of a two-week notice, and anticipated sleeping during the night while my husband drove. I would do the day-time driving.
Just after sundown, my mate informed me that he didn't see well driving in the dark...that the oncoming lights blinded him. Oh, goody. We changed places. Almost immediately there was the sound of contented snoring beside me.
It was a long night. By six in the morning my eyes burned, my back hurt, and the mosquitos bites hadn't let up for a minute. And,believe me, it isn't easy to drive and scratch your ankles at the same time When we stopped for breakfast I had the temperment of a wounded grizzly bear, but kept it inside of my twitching body. I prided myself, (oh! oh! there's that word) on always remaining cool and calm.
We entered a crowded restaurant, seated ourselves and waited. Then, we waited some more. We called to a waitress, she waved. Forty-five minutes passed, and so did my appetite for ham and eggs. Tears of frustration threatend, but I would never make a fool of myself like that. When the waitress DID come to take our order, I pulled myself up to what I thought was a regal pose, expounded at length on the inadequacy of the help, the owner, and the entire operation.
The other patrons stared our way, as I at last gave my order. In what I assumed to be my most queenly manner, I then stated, with perfect inuunciation, "Bring me a HUP OF CAUGHT CHOCOLATE AND A BOOTER HORN!!!"