Here's the Thing About My Mom

Mama, made the best roast pork, bar none, on the planet. Tender and juicy on the inside, with a nice brown, chewy crust; we burned out fingers for samples as soon as it came out of the oven.

After Sunday dinner, when it was time to go home, Aggie sliced some of that pork thin; spread a little mustard and mayonnaise on white bread; added a pickle; wrapped it in waxed paper (and it stayed wrapped); and put the sandwich in a brown paper sack to take home. In theory for later, but half way up the road, it became irresistible and turned into an on-the-road snack. That sandwich, made in that way, then topped the list of the best food on the planet, and it cannot be duplicated today. 

Mama kept her linens in a closet in the hall, and whenever someone opened it, the fresh, sunshine fragrance filled the hall, and infused the sheets when she made the bed. Crawling into her beds at the end of the day was the best tonic for world weariness that I have ever known.

She loved nature in all its forms, especially flowers. She kept a little vase of flowers on the dining table as long as there was anything blooming in the yard or the woods. Dad, on his walks, would often bring her a sprig of some bright wild flower he found in the woods. A dozen, long-stemmed roses pale in romantic power next to such a gift. Her simple, sweet arrangements broke open my heart. I think because of her abundant joy in the unadulterated beauty of nature.

Mama loved to sing, and she sang while she worked - she sang to the sheets on the line and to the dishes as she washed. She sang because she was happy.

She loved to joke and kid around, and as my brother and I grew up, we gave it to her mercilessly. She always laughed: she was always good natured with our silliness. But she cried when we, as adults, left home after a visit.

Well, now that's several things about my Mom, though not everything about her. Perhaps this is because Mother's Day is coming up; perhaps it is just because I miss her.

Flash of Red

     Has it really only been raining for two days? I seem to remember lying down to sleep ages ago and loving the sound of the rain against my window. But my dreams turned to thunder and flash during the night, and I awoke to wind blowing rain across the street in heavy sheets. The runoff from the roof sounded urgent. Deluge was not an exaggeration.   

Was that just this morning? My water-logged thoughts stretch back eternally to a time of sunshine, when I sat on the porch and drank coffee. It feels lost to me now, though I suspect it was really only about two days ago.

How long did old Noah have to wait around in the Ark before it finally stopped? Are we going for a new world record here? The doves have abandoned my yard and have no information to share.
     
I looked up at one point and caught a flash of red outside the window, where a bright Cardinal rested briefly in the deep green bows of the cedar tree beside the house. I'm telling you, the bird looked desperate, and then he hurried on. I understand how he feels.

It's astonishing to me how quickly a long winter rain leads to feelings of desperation and distorted perceptions.
     
Let me out! That's what I say. This house does not float.