Happy birthday Mary

A very long time ago while only a child, I would have answered the phone on this day to hear my Aunt Lora's voice. She would be calling to wish her sister a happy birthday.

My aunt was a tall, formidable woman with many talents, sparkling eyes and a quick wit. She was Navy and stood six feet tall, cooked like a chef, was a master at the sewing machine and faced life with discipline and energy. I absolutely adored her. Daddy though... not so much. When she called and he answered the phone you would hear him say "I knew it was you, I could tell by that old hateful ring"... his dry wit not impressing mama in the least at that moment. Mama would give him "a look" and take the phone.

You could watch the weight of the world lift from my mothers face as she talked and laughed with her sister. Talking with the ones you love does that for you, doesn't it?

Their mother died in childbirth when they were only five and six. They grew up in the depression with little material possessions, only their father to raise them. They walked to the creek and hauled water for cooking and cleaning at five and six. Later, lived in a tent for a short time with their father and swept dirt floors with brooms they fashioned from straw. They wore clothing mended by their aunts to keep them covered, wrapped rags around their feet to keep them warm during hard times when the temperatures dipped and walked the two miles to church on Sundays to worship.

They were markedly similar but also very different. Mama was an excellent cook as well and of the two, probably the more easy going one. They balanced each other perfectly. When they sat and talked for hours on end, I was glued to my seat listening intently to every word. They shared amazing stories of their lives, their viewpoints and mama never laughed as much as when her sister was with her.

Mama told the story of Aunt Lora living in Nashville when she was only 17 or 18 and going on a date with a young man. The young man got a bit too fresh and my Aunt Lora got out of the car and walked away in the middle of nowhere. She saw a farmhouse with lights still on and walked to it, told them what happened and she needed a place to stay for the night. She slept at that farmhouse for the night, then caught a bus back to town the next morning. When mama shared the story she said, "I would not have known what to do but Lora did." She thought her sister amazing and perfect in every way. So today, I think of them both and I miss them. Mama would have been 94. She and my Aunt Lora are together again. Today I can still hear, Happy birthday Mary.

It's almost Spring, again.

This is my second recent post on spring but it's just so darned awesome. It begs another post. So, forgive me but things have started blooming here.

We've had an incredibly wet winter in the south, okay, more like a SOAKING winter. We find ourselves again this week in a pattern of rain. I'm not complaining as it's helping all the plants, grass and trees but it does make for some dreary days. When my dry winter skin reaches epic proportions I know it's time for things to start blooming. I'll get some relief and the bonus is it will be beautiful and green outside.
February is always poignant in the sense of being emotional, not sad really just moving. Mama would have been 94 on the 23rd and daddy left this earth in February 1978. Joyfully though, I am constantly reminded of them.
Sipping coffee this morning and gazing out over the lake, I see all the forsythia[yellow bells] are blooming. The graceful limbs beginning to pop with bright yellow blooms.
[An early garden lesson from mama- The blooms come first, then the leaves, she would say. But why, I would ask? Maybe God wants you to see beauty in His creation, then the green reminds us He is enduring and forever.] I can still hear her words.

So outside our bedroom window, farther in the back yard and beside the mailbox are reminders of childhood. My mother had yellow bells surrounding our house. They were everywhere, she loved them. When she and daddy built our childhood home, she brought cuttings and sprouts from her daddy's home place. She nurtured them and each year she moved more around her home and into the yard. Then as each of her children created their homes, she shared the cuttings. Each home we've built we always included forsythia from granddaddy's home place and Irises and more from mama.

                                                     

                 
 Not long after we built our current home mama was headed to her car after a visit and she reached into her trunk "I brought you something. Plant it where it will get plenty of sun and it will bloom well." Wrapped in foil and a damp paper towel mama handed me a stick. It was sawed at an angle on one end, about 10" long with a single sprout on one side. Flowering Plum tree? Yep.
It now stands about 10 feet tall beside our driveway with several three foot shooters surrounding it. Early blooms are signaling spring.

As sunny days become more prevalent, the irises will be next. I can almost feel the soft breeze and warm sun on my face, hear her words and relish in her lessons.

Memories come in brilliant yellow blooms today.  Enduring green leaves are just around the corner. 

There is peace to be found and an early spring.

It's 5 a.m. on a very cold Saturday and my husband is sound asleep, as all humans should be. There are two dogs also snoozing (& snoring), it's pitch black outside and I'm wide awake. I'm not sure why I can't sleep in, sometime I would like to hit the snooze button but I simply can't. My brain reminds me there is a pot of coffee with my name on it. I quietly steal away into the kitchen excited as a child at Christmas, for that hot cup from heaven.
I remember being awakened on Saturday mornings as a child to watch cartoons.  My brother would wrap me in a quilt and carry me to the couch about the time Bugs Bunny started. We would feast on dry Cheerios in a cup, long before it was a reasonable time to ask mama for breakfast.

This particular morning I hear the ducks squawking on the lake, the little birds begging for spring and snoring.. so. much. snoring. Oh, but the coffee is good.
I've become very retrospective these days. As I finish my morning devotion I am thinking on my week, what was accomplished and what was tossed aside. Oh yes, things were tossed to be finished another day. It's funny how things change over time. My Forty year old self would have been bothered by all the tossing aside but sixty year old me doesn't care. If I am completely forthcoming, forty year old me was just a smidge OCD and would surely have stayed up all hours of the night to finish the list of things that must be done. The frenetic pace of days gone by, have all but left me. I rest more these days, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Trusting that God will lead me every moment of every day. It's a tough concept to fathom when you are young because you have so many plans! I planned out every day and jumped in with both feet, mindful to thank God for the day but kind-of acting like I was in charge. You learn to trust God more, you become more willing to give up (self) and then the peace comes. Real peace. How often do we hear someone say, "I wish I knew then what I know now?" Oh how true.

Yesterday afternoon as the sun streamed in the living room windows, nasty and smudgy windows were staring back at me. (Maybe forty year old me isn't completely gone.) So I drug out the short step ladder, cleaner and paper towels. We have double hung windows which tilt out for easy cleaning. Maybe a more apt description would be "manhandle-type tilting window".. nevertheless, I got them tilted out and cleaned. While I cleaned I listened to the birds and off in the distance I heard the doves cooing. For real? I stopped to be sure.. let me hear it once more. Yep. There they go again, a sure sign of spring. I can hear my mothers voice in my head as if she is standing here, announcing the coming of spring. If mama were still on this earth she would have called all three of her children bright and early to make sure we knew she heard the doves.
Mama purely relished the coming of spring each year. It meant she was no longer cooped up in the house. She loved her hands in the dirt, getting her yard in shape and waiting for each new bloom.  Well into her early eighties she was seen pushing a lawn mower and weeding her shrubs.

My phone no longer rings with her announcements but now it's my turn. My turn to pass on the wisdom of the past, the knowledge of Gods sufficient grace and how you can trust He has you in his hand. Even the doves cooing.. I have a few phone calls to make, Spring is on the way.