A Good Word

Today, it’s hard to believe that at this time next month, spring will be “busting out all over.” No matter if the calendar says so or not, we are “one day closer to spring” as my mom would say.

She hated winter! There WAS the time she and dad got snowed in at a state park while they were on a vacation to follow the fall foliage of New England.

She said they were “snug as a bug in a rug” in their camper, drinking coffee and enjoying the winter wonderland outside.

Mom looms heavy on my mind today.

As I’m writing this on Feb. 12, she’d have turned 100. I still remember the exact place I was in my school bus when I received a call from my big brother that mom was very ill.

I’d always thought of the distance between mom and me, and I dreaded this kind of call. I truly thought I wouldn’t get there in time, but I did.

I’m so thankful to say my good memories of mom are so numerous and so thick I can almost reach out and touch them today.

In the later years, mom’s hearing got so bad, even with a hearing aid, it was impossible for her to hear.

She told me once the things she missed the most was hearing the little jenny wren sing in the morning and the “small’ talk from her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

She missed hearing their tiny voices.

When we’d all get together, mom couldn’t hear us, but she loved to watch us laughing and having a good time.

Mom was usually behind the scenes, but she put her fear aside when she stood up for the folks receiving food at the little Thrift Shop she volunteered at. She was a rebel more than once in her life.

On at least one occasion (that I know of) mom decided teens needed their own place to shop in the Thrift Shop, so she created one.

She loved to play games with all the grandchildren. I believe it’s safe to say, that most would say that’s their most treasured memory of her.

I’ll end this blurb with a warning mom once gave her grandson, Eli, who loved to tell us stories of his early teaching days.

In all seriousness, she said, “Be careful what you say to Becky. She’ll put it in the paper. She writes about me all the time!”

Once again, mom, once again.