Saturday, February 27, 2010


As I was sewing up the dog's bed the other night the words, "whip-stitch", kept repeating in my mind.  I never learned to sew, really.  I don't have the patience or the precision- I like to think that sewing is too confining for my free spirit. 
But that word, whip-stitch kept circling,
   it had to come from somewhere. 
My mind wandered to my mom, she must have planted that word in my memory somehow.  Was it when she sewed, then ripped out every stitch, and re-sewed my 4th grade Halloween costume?  I was Gizmo the Gremlin that year.  It was the first year in a new school and having the perfect, most elaborate costume was absurdly important to me.  I remember hovering at my grandmother's table, just at my mom's elbow, badgering her about when it would be done.  She had to have been frustrated, with me, with the sewing, with the rush at the 11th hour. 
she made sure it was perfect. 
she made sure it was elaborate. 
she made sure I felt special.

I liked spending time with my mom growing up, even if I didn't always  catch on to her hobbies like she had hoped.  She worked hard, so the time we had was precious.  I remember so many things about her likes, her dislikes, her words, her indulgences, her habits...
   like: ice in her coffee; combat boots; always Coke-never Pepsi- in a bottle, or a glass, or with a straw-but never from a can; telephone poles; telephone calls; canning & sweet-hot mustard & freezer jam; peonies; Mod Podge & wreaths & ceramics & cute hanging dishtowels; socks of every color and for every holiday; anything at the checkout counter that says new...

But what the memories I cherish, the ones that I try to hold onto for my own children are...
   things like: My Three Sons & Bewitched at 3 am; Brownies; stepping up for Cheer-Boosters when the cheerleaders were asked to pay their own way; really listening to me when I cornered you (even in the bathroom); making tapioca pudding that takes until midnight; being a 6th grade camp chaperone; phone calls at 7 am when I was in college (much to my roommates chagrin); she would stay up late waiting for me to come home, even when I was just next door...

We don't always agree on politics.  We sometimes disagree on wardrobe.  There has been a time or two when we disagree about hairstyles.  But I know when I need her, she is there. 

I hope this 65th year brings my mom as many special memories as she gives me.  Happy Birthday MOM!!!

1 comment:

PRP said...

What a sweet tribute.

Happy Birthday!