Thoughts on Mother's Day
I looked at my desk calendar this morning, and squinted to read the fine print: ah yes, it's Mother's Day. One in a string of what I call Hallmark Holidays (HH). Founded on a fine sentiment, no doubt, but primarily designed for commercial success.
I had to make a trip to the grocery store yesterday afternoon (Saturday is not the best day for grocery shopping…) and couldn't miss seeing the huge display of flowers and sweets for mothers. In fact, I had to navigate around it to get to the checkout.
Don't get me wrong. I loved my grandmothers, I loved my mother, I loved the mother of my children, God rest their souls. But I lost my last grandmother in 1996, my mother in 2003 and my first wife, the mother of my children in 2010. So I haven't really had anyone to celebrate in a few years.
Except, of course my children: two daughters, both mothers. My oldest lives 500 miles away, and last evening, she sent a photo of the pasta sauce her daughter had made to enhance the commercial ravioli they had for dinner. The youngest drove 500 miles this weekend to watch her daughter perform (they're both dancers) and to visit her new son-in-law (they were married two weeks ago). Now I'm praying for her safe return, driving across Texas dodging thunderstorms.
My mother, Mommy, was the most important person for me during the first part of my life. As I got older, I gradually shifted my attention to other influences, leading to marriage to my first wife. Not surprisingly, she and her mother somewhat resembled my mother.
And grandmas were great: Sunday dinner after church with lots of uncles, aunts and cousins, licking my finger and dipping it in the sugar bowl. That was at my paternal grandma's house. She spent the last few years of her life in a nursing home after suffering a stroke.
Granny, my maternal grandmother, taught me quite a variety of skills, from slicing pasta dough to make noodles, to cutting corn tops in the field to make fodder for the cattle. I suspect because she was active on the farm from 1920 until 1973, she was able to spend the next 20 plus years in town, living with her daughter and son-in-law, working in the yard and even volunteering to work “with the old folks” at a local rest home. At the time, she was in her mid to late 80s and many of the “old folks” were likely younger than she.
My earliest memory likely concerns my paternal grandfather, so I'll cover that next month with the next HH. The next earliest memory, somewhere around five years old, is crawling into a small cave on our farm dug into the side of a ditch to see a mother dog and her litter of puppies. She let me come in and touch her puppies. I suspect she saw me as a human puppy, which is why she accepted me. Also, God was watching and the little hole in the ditch didn't cave in.
So that's my take on Mother's Day 2024. I will wrap up with a paraphrase of a line from the Lovin' Spoonful's “Nashville Cats:”
And I sure am glad I got a chance to say a word about
The music and the mothers from Texas.
So I didn't talk about music… oh well. Next time.