Growing up, Thanksgiving was over the top. Turkeys weighed in at 25 or so pounds, and leftovers nearly burst the doors off the fridge. One year, I think it was 1976, Mom and I got the fancy idea to make chestnut stuffing for the turkey. I wish I could remember where we’d heard “chestnut stuffing” mentioned … in a book? A song? Either way, we decided it would be a fun mother-daughter project for Thanksgiving. I know it was not…
This poem of Mom’s caught my eye the other day, just as Farmer Gary and I were reminiscing about the bittersweet work that goes into clearing out a long-loved house and finding another family who will make it home. In 2002, Dad was executor for Mom’s uncle Pip’s estate. Her cousins and even some of their children gathered to help clear out the home that for decades served as a gathering place for four generations of family. May and Pip…
Have you ever gotten that weird feeling that you were being watched? Turns out, it wasn’t just a feeling. Farmer Gary and I were enjoying our morning tête-à-tête in the sunroom, when he froze – sort of the way a bloodhound does – and intently squinted out one of the east-looking windows. “There’s a squirrel in the tree. He is surveilling us.” Sure enough: Gary calls him Sylvester, after a pet squirrel his cousin Renus had as a child. I…
These days, social media is full of parents bemoaning the bittersweet moment of driving away from colleges and universities that just six months ago they were bragging about joyously. This time, though, they leave without their child. I remember that acute pain. Walking by a bedroom that no longer vibrates with electric guitar or bass riffs rattling the door knob. “Oh, how I’ll miss this,” I thought more than once. I still do. No one asking for a clean shirt….
Remember Edgar from the movie Men in Black? Gary and I thought of him the other day as we read up on the brew that must be mixed before it is carefully poured into a hummingbird feeder. “Sugar … in … water” is all he wants. And so, our first hummingbird carries the name E’gar. When I chose this particular hand-blown glass hummingbird feeder, it seemed like the decent thing to do. According to the online description: Blue: Represents resilience…
I heard from Mom’s cousin Patty this week. She lives in New Hampshire and emailed that they were under a weather alert to watch for tornados. Tornadoes in New England. Crazy stuff! Here in southern Indiana, we had some wicked thunderstorms a few days later. It’s been very hot and those pop-up storms came and went all night. “That Mother Nature – she’s sure in a mood!” I might have said to Farmer Gary more than once. As a Tiller…
I’ve been thinking a lot about Mom and Dad these past several days, knowing they were just 14 years old when D-Day occurred on June 6, 1944. The 80th anniversary of D-Day commemoration brought tears to my eyes, watching news coverage of the war veterans – some of whom had stormed the beaches of Normandy – honored and paying tribute to those who filled the cemeteries after the horrific battles. While reading The Longest Day by Cornelius Ryan over the…
I can’t help but wonder what life would have been like if social media was in full force back in the 1960s. More specifically, if The Beatles could have used the internet as they released each new album. Just the thought gives me a bit of a shiver … But that was then and this is now. And every time I hear or see the name of Taylor Swift’s new album: The Tortured Poets Department, I think about my poet…
In the last few days before today’s total solar eclipse, I couldn’t resist checking to see if Mom had ever written a poem about this all-too-rare occasion in nature. Sure enough, she had. But, as often as she wrote about the moon, that’s not what this poem from 1971 was about. Eclipse I saw two wagons passing by the sea:one full of letters from my love to me.The other held a cargo of such strange designthat I could only pray…
Today is Mom’s birthday. She was born 94 years ago, giving her mom bragging rights to winning the great competition. During her teens, Mom penned this poem. Writing in first person as an octogenarian, the lovely green-eyed redhead tried to imagine what life would be like so many years in the future: Passing Phase of an Octogenarian Today is my birthday. And when they think I do not hearThey whisper I am old. They say that I have had my…