I could barely wiggle.

 Last night I was incredibly tired, had worked hard all day. I just wanted to eat and go to bed. We have entered a season of hard and besides the physical demands, it's mentally exhausting. I had soaked a simple bag of beans the night before and made my mama's barbeque beans. (no recipe really, just knowing what to add) 

I had not thought about those beans in a long time. She liked to use daddys homemade barbeque sauce in them. Once, she took them to church for potluck and someone asked if they were pork n beans. She was appalled. You could say my mama was a bit of a food snob. She felt there was no excuse for poor eating if you had beans in the pantry. No! They are not pork n beans, those were made from dried beans. They were made from scratch. She had to bring them pretty regularly after that. Hers were the best.  

Growing up with teenage brothers meant mama had to stretch her food dollars. She could never fill them up. We ate a lot of beans, cornbread and coleslaw. I thought we ate beans because we liked them. Pinto beans, butterbeans, and northerns mostly. Daddy raised hogs most of our childhood and there was always a fresh hambone to add to beans and soups, a plentiful garden out back. 

I cooked the beans low and slow like she did, just enough water for them to be tender but not mushy. (I actually like lots of barbeque sauce with mine and made a little more last night) Don is not really a bean person but they smelled so good he had a bowl too. 

There we sat with our soup bowls full of beans. No cornbread because I could barely wiggle. That's what my mama always said when she was exhausted. Which meant she had absolutely nothing left. I promised to make it up to him, but he didn't mind. He commented mama would have had a slice of onion with hers and he was right. 
We talked about our childhoods and the meals we had. I remembered going to swim at Aunt Cebels & Uncle Adds house and coming back by The Iceberg to get a malted milk shake. We talked about penny candy. Do you remember penny candy? I remember once mama handing me 25 cents in Ensley at Winn Dixie, for me to go in and get a loaf of bread and she said, bring me the change please. (which meant, no candy Leisa) 
Don reminisced about breaking open watermelons at his cousins house in Vernon and eating them right in the garden. Shirtless, cut off shorts days of summer. 
How could we have known those simple days were so very important. It pains me a little that my grandchildren haven't had that kind of life. Slow summer days when nothing was required of you but play and rest. Nights when you slept like rocks because you played so hard all day long. 
There we sat with our bowl of beans, enjoying time together and for a little while cancer took a backseat again. Scripture says, contentment is great gain. Thank you, Lord for reminding us that some days are long but there is still much joy in moments together. We need to seek those moments more, make them the greater part of each day. 

 

May hits different every year

No one tells you, when your mother is gone life changes forever, but it does. Life is different now. Fourteen years ago mama physically left us for her heavenly home. 12:01am May 1st. I will admit I have shed a few tears over the last couple weeks but it is merely a longing. 

This was her favorite time of year. Mama loved when she could get her hands in the dirt and plant things, move others, trade varieties & colors of flowers with friends or family. She loved the extended light during spring & summer; she needed it like she needed air. She walked out of bed in the mornings straight to the windows to let the light in. She often "lunched" with lifelong friends. When at home, she walked around completely content doing the things that needed to be done, usually humming or listening to her radio. She did not shy away from home improvement projects just because she was alone. She usually would jump right into a painting or sewing project. Sometimes she called one of her children for back up.  

I miss her. I miss her smile, her touch, her quick wit and how she could make everything right again. God gave her many gifts. Her gift of hospitality made everyone feel at ease and comfortable. She was also very discerning. She was straightforward, never mean spirited but told you what you needed to hear. When I needed her, she was always there. I could be upset or worried and her near perfect common sense could always settle me. She struggled on occasion with trusting God supremely, her words not mine. "I tend to worry", she would say (and she certainly did). However, when it was important, really important, she was your rudder in the storm. Her feet were set on solid ground. 
When things were hard, she would say with 100% confidence, "we will figure it out" and we did. 
When my racing brain had a million ideas at once and I needed to get them all out, she wisely said, "why don't you write all of that down. Organize on paper what is most important and we will work on it together later." I figure that bought her some quiet time, but it also really helped me organize my thoughts. 

Her Mother's Days were always a whirl of activity. It was not a day of rest. The church we attended held "Memorial" on the second Sunday in May which meant there was food to prepare and flowers to get on graves of her loved ones. She woke most Mother's Day at dawn and a cake was soon in the oven. By late afternoon she would finally have time to sit and listen to her childrens offerings to her. Sometimes she got a homemade card, or a foot rub (which she loved). She always wanted time with us, just time. 

Today is not a sad day. I choose instead to be grateful, humbled by the sacrifices she made for each of her children, her steadfastness, her sense of humor, her deep-rooted faith and trust in the Lord. 
I will open the drapes, first thing and feel the sun on my face. 

She was usually right.

 December 21st, 2025.

Today would be the day. She would have called me by now and after we chatted a minute or two, she would remind me today is the shortest day of the year. After today they begin getting longer. You won't really notice it before about mid-January. She would have called each of her children on this morning. She hated dark, loved the sunshine. 

Every morning she woke at home, she walked through the house opening curtains to let the sun in. When you were sick, she opened the curtains around you, "this will help your feelings", she would say. 
She was right. It makes sense that in her state of dementia, she was a "sundowner". She began to get agitated and nervous. We tried to counter that feeling with every light in the house on as a distraction. Sometime it worked, sometime not. 

I love this photo I snapped on my phone after Don finished the fireplace project. The sun streaming in from the back. 

It is no wonder I love the sunshine so much. I do the same thing with the curtains, I do not close them until dark. I don't know what it is but it feels like my soul doesn't breathe until the sun is streaming in around me. I miss those days when the phone rang, my mother on the other end of the line "why don't we run to Bright Star and have lunch?" After I minute or two it became apparent despite all I needed to do that day, I was going to lunch with my mama. It was futile to try and reason about all my duties for the day. All those things will wait, she would say. She was right again. The clothes waited, the messy closet waited, so did the dishwasher. Just waiting until I returned. I'm so glad I listened and spent that time with her.  Mama was a happy person. Usually smiling, and in a good mood but on those dreary days, she needed help. She would call and simply say, "I have the mulle grubs, where we going?"

An hour or two with her daughter usually did it. (although, it probably would have been the same with one of the boys) Most often I got to be the one. 

The older I get the more things I find, she was right about. Taking the time to sift the flour three times in the pound cake, makes it high and light. She was right. Sometime, just listening and not arguing your point when in a disagreement with a loved one- just listen, don't get offended so easily. "Hush, you may learn something and you will definitely defuse the anger aimed at you." 
From the time I was a child, not everyone is going to like you, and that's perfectly okay. She was right and it is okay. 

I miss her at Christmas more than any other time, I think. Our childhood home at Christmas always smelled of something fabulous. Usually a German Chocolate Cake was made and she hustled to make everything wonderful for her children, for all the people she loved. I guess it's her joy I miss the most. Joy in her salvation, she never worried about her life ending. Joy in the choices she made along the way, she trusted and lived in her decisions. Joy in her station in life, never regretting where she came from or why they had so little. She was not perfect as none of us are but she was amazing and kind, loving and true. You could trust her with your life. 
This time of year, she wanted all her people around her. If she had a busy day, she would say, "dinner is just beans, cornbread and slaw, but I need you here with me." She only wanted her people around her to be happy. She was right. It's all that matters. 

So, today we rest and renew. We were blessed with time with family and friends over the last few days. I'll be watching & waiting for the longer sunshine days. Like my mother I feel it to my soul. 

Sometime, you just need a little sugar.

Sometime the most random things pop in my head. I believe they are referred to as "core memories" today. 

I am always struck by the fact I have lived much longer than my daddy. Daddy died at 53 years old, far too young. I am also amazed at how much guiding, love, discipline and living he left with me. He was a smart man, could do about anything with his hands and was one heck of a brick mason. He didn't get to finish high school, simply by virtue of the times he grew up in. Despite his interrupted education, after a stint in World War II in the Navy, he landed a good job. He was one of the hardest working people I ever knew. He didn't need much sleep and loved to hunt and fish. He fiercely loved his people too. 

I am the youngest sibling and the only girl. I was a daddys girl. Not that my mama didn't love me and I loved her, it was just different with daddy and I. Maybe because we were more similar in personality (which we now know is a smidge of ADHD.)
Sidenote: I am sure I nearly drove my mother to drink at times. I never shut up, was never still, always wanted to know how to do things and she was so very patient with me. I remember her saying to my brother Crant, "just take her outside and keep her busy for just a few minutes." Which he did, where she could catch her breath. Bless her. 

Daddy was the disciplinarian that could talk to you and make you feel two inches tall. I always cried and swore I would never do whatever it was, ever again. Mama, also a disciplinarian was concerned more about things like our behavior toward others, manners and care of our bodies. Did you bathe? Did you brush your teeth again, you ate raisins. (Yes, I had to brush my teeth after a tiny pack of raisins.) We got sweets only on our birthday or a holiday. However, daddy did not share mama's dedication to eating no sweets. If you ever want to know where I got my "a little bit sneaky", I think I know.  
~~Recently, as my mama would say, "I was dragging". Not go-to-the-doctor sick but not well. I did not stick my head in the studio all week, which is not at all like me. My husband kindly attended to me last week but in my head, I thought "he has no poptarts to offer". What's wrong with him? 

When I was a child, if I was sick daddy would usually stay home with me because he had more seniority at work. It's hard to stay sick when you get the opportunity to stay home with your daddy too. Once mama took my temperature one more time, wrote down directions and kissed me (going over what daddy needed to do for me to survive the day) she was off to work. Daddy was dressed ready for the day, shaved, mustache trimmed, smelling of Old Spice. He would tuck me in on the couch, turn on cartoons or something I liked, while he made breakfast. He came back in the living room with a sly smile on his face. Did I want Poptarts or Fruit Loops to go with my breakfast? Wait, what? (I'm pretty sure daddy was confused because I never saw a box of Fruit Loops in my mama's cabinets, in my life) We aren't allowed that garbage. 
I watched daddy stride out to his truck and return with a box of pre-sweetened cereal and a box of Poptarts. (I can hear my mothers words in my head, "that stuff is pure garbage")
I thought maybe he was afraid of mama, but later realized he simply chose the path of least resistance. (I was probably about 9 when I realized he was much smarter than I gave him credit for being)  Who cares anyway, I have Poptarts. 
I would drag my blanket to daddys chair to share. I piled up in his lap on one knee while he ate cereal and I ate warmed Poptarts while we watched cartoons. His coffee sat on the hearth beside his chair. Can I have another? Sure you can.  
Best sick days of my childhood were the ones spent with daddy. While mama was the one who was always there when fevers ran so high we hallucinated, she bathed our bodies with cool cloths, held our head while we were sick and worried over us healing properly, sat up night after night at the hospital looking over you. Then daddy got the light duty days, but she would have it no other way. 
I'm not sure if he ever told her about the sweets or if she just knew because I'm guessing I ricocheted off the walls after all the sugar. He put the sweets away before she got home. If she knew, she never said a word. 
Those days are long behind us now. Mama and daddy filled all the parts of me to overflowing and gave us the very best childhood we could possibly have had. When society today would have considered us poor. I can't even imagine it being any better. Did they know what a wonderful job they did? Did they know how much we took in and retained to share with our children? Did they know how loved we felt?
I sure hope so because some days you simply need a Poptart.  

Fried pies and growing gardens.

 I watched the dirt fall back from his shoes in clumps, first this way and that, as he pushed the plow through the rich, unturned soil. The mule had done this a time or two, and they moved in unison in our old garden spot. I followed behind every step he took, waiting for instruction. "throw the big rocks to the side we just finished, baby" he would say. We will come back and gather them up later. I could not been more than eight or nine. I would get a five gallon bucket from the garage and gather those big rocks into the bucket, to move from the garden. Daddy watching over me but not doing it for me. 

Daddy always knew when it was time to plow the garden. The smell of the deep, rich soil filled my nostrils as I walked behind. I'm sure mama was relieved to have her house to herself to finish her weekend chores, on those summer Saturdays. My brothers would often be helping in the garden or doing something else daddy requested done. We were all "outdoor" kids but I suppose all kids were back then. 
Daddy and mama would linger over the dinner table in the weeks before plowing, deciding what and how much to plant. Mama knew how much freezer space was available and depending on her obligations, how much time she had to devote to harvest. The boys, bigger than myself would do a lion's share of the tending, while daddy was at work. 
I still remember the lingering scent of his aftershave on his neck when he came home and quickly changed into work clothes. He seemed to hurry a little more in early summer to get into the garden after work. He loved those fresh vegetables and while I never remember doing without anything I needed, I'm sure the garden was a necessity for us. It was for most everyone we knew. Daddy gardened big, even leasing land to farm on. We raised hogs every year as well. You slaughtered in fall every year and we had an abundance of fresh pork, daddy made sausage so lean mama had to add fat to the pan to keep it from sticking. He fished incessantly, he loved it. We always had fish in the freezer. 
There was an abundance of family surrounding us and everyone shared what they had. The closest being Uncle Lattie & Aunt Jim, they had pear, peach and plum trees, cattle for a while and we got eggs from his chickens. Mama and Aunt Jim would have us gather the fruit and make jams and jellies that day. (tackling the other fruit on another day.) Often mama and I would take extra jars and more fruit home to knock some of it out later.  Aunt Jim made delicious fried Peach Pies. (One of my Daddys weaknesses) 

One day Aunt Jim called looking for daddy. She was not very happy, I could hear it in her voice. Seems she had made fresh pies that morning and about five of them disappeared. ? ? When we were kids, no one locked their doors. Kind of hard to even imagine now. 
Daddy would go by Uncle Latties to sit on the porch and drink a cup of coffee. Apparently this particular morning, Aunt Jim made fried pies and they had somewhere to be, early. The pies were cooling on paper bags on the counter. Fresh coffee was made and just sitting there. I believe the story goes, he got himself a cup of coffee and stood there and ate a pie. He said they sure were good. He ate another couple sitting on the porch sipping coffee. Grabbed a second cup and a pie as he walked out the door to go down to Charlie Vines. When he came back by to leave their coffee cup, he ate his fifth pie. 
I can just see her counting those pies and fussing under her breath. I also think it's hilarious that she knew exactly who would have eaten five pies. When the story got back around to my mama, she said "surely not, Jim" "how could he eat 5 pies at one time?" . . . but he did. He admitted it and promised not to do it again, with a smile in his eyes. But he did say, it was kind of her fault for making such good pies. My Aunt Jim loved my daddy but I bet she felt like choking him that day. She never managed to stay mad at him at him for long. 

Life was very simple back then. In summer, we played from sun up to sun down with chores intertwined between. I do not ever remember chores feeling like work. Things were expected of each of us, a particular behavior, depending on your age and gender. (As I was the youngest and not as strong as the boys) The boys cut grass, cleared brush, chopped wood and all the heavy duty things I could not do. We all worked in the garden and everyone learned to cook. Both my brothers are good cooks, thanks to mama & daddy. We hardly watched television at all, but then again we only had three channels. We looked forward to seeing cousins on the weekends and playing in the woods. We fished about any time we wanted and mama and daddy both excelled at nature trivia. They shared their knowledge of how things grew and where they came from. Mama was an avid reader. Daddy worked hard at Hayes International but he also was a brick mason (on the side), could do about any kind of woodworking and he made knives from scraps at work. If you wanted a knife that lasted, you would have one of daddys made from the high grade metals that came off the fighter jet scraps. I still have one of his knives, gifted to me by a cousin. 
It seems so cliche but life was much simpler then. Evenings were spent in the living room together, watching television.. In spring we would shell peas sitting around the table and mama on the couch with a huge bowl in her lap. We played board games and cards too. Daddy raised peanuts and often had a large pan in the oven roasting to eat while we shelled peas.   
I have many memories of time together playing, working and laughing so hard we cried. I learned hard work is worth it, expectations on me, made me work harder and gave me coping skills and love was constant and true. 

Those were the best days of our lives and on my not so great days, that is where my mind goes. 
I've always felt God allows us memories to sustain us until we see them again. In the grand scheme of things, it is but a short separation.