Little things, add up to gold.

One of my favorite pictures of mama and I at a family gathering, long before dementia took her quick wit.

I've saved the things that remind me of her and surround myself with them. They are all around me, inside and out. Outside- Yellow bells from her childhood home, the flowering plum tree she brought me (as just a little stick), my almond shrub, sweet william in the backyard, the mock orange (English dogwood) from outside my childhood bedroom.

During late spring mama would slip into my bedroom early and crank open my windows. The soft cafe curtains flowing in the breeze, allowing me to wake to the smell of fragrant blooms. She lovingly made my curtains by hand. As in, not on a sewing machine but literally "in her lap" one casing, one hem at a time. She added little decorative white braid to the crisp linen blend. Her signature look in our home, clean, minimalist and freshly pressed. There are other reminders of her as well. Little trinkets here and there. The little wooden box daddy brought her from one of his work trips. It's still here. She used it for her jewelry- her simple, classic style not requiring much adornment. Mama didn't own much jewelry, didn't wear earrings, only a few pins and her ring. The pins still remain in the box where I take them out occasionally and the memories fill me up again. Sunday mornings and mama choosing a pin to wear on her dress or blouse.

There are old mixing bowls I treasure and will pass on to my children one day. Then there's the pan. Isn't it funny where our true treasures lie? It's a simple 9 X 13 baking pan but it was hers. Every pan of chicken and dressing, every perfectly seasoned pork loin resting on a rack, food prepared for families mourning a loss, all cooked in this pan. Every family gathering it was filled with something delicious.

 Mama made baked beans like no one else. She started with dried great northern beans and made her own barbeque sauce. She added seasonings and onion and don't forget the bacon. Those beans went quickly each time they were served. Her famous lemon squares were prepared in that pan. I use her pan every week and I believe if memory serves, Danielle has already claimed it. So it will be, one day it will reside in the third generation as another memory of granny, passed down to another generation. I have no doubts my grandson will eventually take the pan, he's an old soul already at seven years old.

It's been a restless week, I haven't been sleeping well and not quite myself. If you've encountered me ill and out of sorts, my apologies. There have been great losses again, reminders of painful loss past and it's hard. Then last night about 9:30 p.m. I decided I needed to bake a pie. (I've always been a late night baker) I pulled out my pie dish and got started. Mama taught me how to make a perfectly flaky crust, I can almost see her hands working the flour. Before long its in the oven. Strangely, my husband is no longer sleepy.

So, we celebrated mothers day a little early with a late night slice of my mothers apple pie. A perfect start to my mothers day. So it was, last night I slept like a baby. Thank you Jesus for my mama.

Memories are treasures that add up to pure gold.

Thoughts and reflections on Christmas Eve, past and present.

I jotted down this post over coffee, Christmas Eve 2018 while things were quiet. Christmas is too important not to include it in the blog. Therefore, I post it today.  In years to come my grandchildren will read this retelling of Christmas past.

Blue skies are like new beginnings, after several days of rainy skies and dark clouds, wait.. Okay, so we've felt we needed a Ark because it's rained for two solid months. At one point I think we had 12 straight days of rain. Sunshine today is a sight to behold.
We have had quite a winter this year, there has been far too much rain and cold for this southern girl. I'm a sunny-warm-weather girl who tires of winter quickly. I'm sure winter isn't done with us yet but today I will take the low 50's predicted and revel in the sunshine. 

It's Christmas eve day and there will be some cooking and some relaxing today. There are gifts to wrap and I'm sure I can find another Hallmark movie to watch. All in all It will be a fairly quiet day, unlike Christmases past.

When our children were young and at home Christmas was a flurry of activity from early morning until well after midnight. Patrick usually was the first to hop out of bed running through the house announcing "it's Christmas Eve!" His sister quickly followed and so it began.
I love how traditions evolve over time and each activity becomes a necessity, you absolutely can't have the holiday without?! One of my favorites was late-night baking of goodies on Christmas Eve.

Mama shared her love for baking with me when I was young and it continued throughout our lives. It was our ritual time together. Even when I was a teenager and my attitude was often lacking, as teenagers do, we baked. Baking was cathartic for mama and I find it the same for me.
When I later married, some days she would call just to let me know she was stirring up a cake if I wanted to come over and help. It was our time to talk through whatever was bothering either of us or whatever was giving us joy. Most often it was planning for transplanting flowers or small trees she wanted moved or maybe an upcoming trip to Pensacola to visit family.

Most Christmases wedding cookies, homemade caramels, tiger butter and divinity were top picks for my own family. My personal favorite this time of year is almond nougat. If any of the children spotted the four bags of slivered almonds after grocery shopping, they alerted the household and hid out. Mind you, not because they didn't like almond nougat but because it was a rather large recipe which meant hand wrapping 125-150 pieces of candy.

My sweet daddy died before I met and married my Don and for all those years it was only mama to visit us. Our children and their first cousins started their own tradition of laying claim to their granny for Christmas eve night. I'm not sure when and why they felt this necessary? It wasn't like they weren't all going to see her anyway. But yes, they "claimed" her each year.  

"No, you had her last year. We get her this year"..  and so it went between them all. I will say I was impressed with their honor when they realized it wasn't their year. They took the disappointment with dignity. 

She would warn them all against arguing over her but she absolutely loved being fawned over. When it was your year for granny, she would show up with an overnight bag early in the day Christmas eve. The children would meet her at the door which was hilarious to me, as they had probably seen her two or three times during the week already. This was special though, it was Christmas. They called their cousins to announce the arrival of "the gran" and our home filled with children clamoring for mama's attention and time. They read books and played games all day, listened to her tell stories of her childhood, watched episodes of Murder She Wrote and immersed themselves in their granny.  Mama was always a light-hearted, happy person but at Christmas she was at her finest.
Later in the day she would take the back up position while I baked. She was the most efficient sifter and nut chopper around. Exactly like when I was a child, she would share where she thought I could add another spot for Irises or Daylily's to my yard. When the children tired of all the work in the kitchen, it was just mama and I.
I will miss her today as I bake alone.

Every Christmas Eve the children would bed down in the same bedroom. Patrick would make a pallet in his sister's room and they talked and giggled until late into the night. Our bedroom was directly above them and we listened quietly together as they talked and planned.
They were warned not to wake anyone until at least 6 a.m. Of course, Patrick was awake by 5 and I could hear them talking and laughing all the way upstairs. Granny would be in Patrick's bed and I'm sure she wasn't allowed to sleep either.
~When they came upstairs, they would always shield their eyes from the Christmas tree because they wanted us all together before seeing what Santa had delivered. There was no racing to the tree to see what they had received. Neither child would look until everyone was in the living room. "Come on Granny, hurry"  The children could not wait for granny to open her gifts, first. Usually something they had crafted just for her or something they spent their pennies on at the school Santa shop. I always loved that weeks ahead of the holiday instead of buying for themselves, they were thinking of their granny.

As the celebration continued, there were always my brothers and their families, favorite foods throughout the day and always so much laughter, and naps. Someone would slip off to a bed to rest.

What I also found amazing when my children were young was their insistence on not skipping traditions. (We mama's get tired sometime) However tired I was, they would become indignant if I even suggested leaving something out each year. I am grateful they now embrace family traditions which began long ago.
I watch them instill the same giving and loving qualities in their own children, create their own traditions and enjoy time with family and take time to rest.
Patrick puts their Christmas tree up as early in November as he can. He's like his mama in that regard, I like to enjoy it as long as possible. My daughter has her Christmas baking schedule down to their favorites and there is much "down time" at home- no manic Christmas for her. She is much like her granny.

Although today we have some hurts we are still healing from and are missing among others, our sweet granny, today will be another Christmas of celebrating Jesus birth, reading, gift-giving, laughter but most of all, togetherness (Not to mention really good food)

Remember, the really important gifts can't be purchased.  

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.