Sometimes I judge myself by what I am not, and realize maybe
I could have been—a gardener, a baker, even a candlestick maker, or some sort
of art to profess.
But my drawing consists, so like yours, of stick men and
rarely straight lines, and I think to myself, “If she had been thus, I would
have had a craft to pass.”
I am stuck, I must admit, with pictures of 50’s wives and
Mother Hen types in my head, rendering me quite out of place. I was asked, “What are you good at,” and I replied, “I don’t know.”
Though, now that I think of it, I do have quite a few
talents, brought to be by you.
They are not the stick and glue types, needle points and rising bread
types, confidences in the blooms.
Here are a few things gleaned from you, and I think you
should take heed (For though you think you passed so little, it really was a
great deed):
I am not fussed by glam or sparkles, they’re pretty, but not
much help. Because you were not so
good with hair, well, God gave me hair that doesn’t need much—and I must say I
have still had quite a few compliments.
I speak, (that could just stop there, do the women in our
family ever stop speaking?) with confidence, even sometimes eloquence, and find
joy in being able to do so. For
you taught us to speak up, and maybe we have done so even more than you at
times wanted. But you also taught
us for whom to speak up, and created a fierceness in us—to protect those that
can’t, and stand for what is right, and though we often do not show it, we can
be quite tender.
I love simple joys of handwritten notes, and home-picked
flowers, of dandelions & daffodils sprinkling my windowsills. You always put them in a jar, middle of
the table to show off, and how that filled my small child’s heart, to be lifted
to such high esteem. Now when my
girl picks dandelions, I smile, and love them too.
I love to read; that statement is much too simple. It is a burning passion that could take
my life to fill. My favorite rooms
have always been libraries like in Beauty & the Beast, or the one from
Biltmore house, grand rooms where books never cease. Our weekly trips to the library, but also the shelves full
at home. Never a book denied me,
thank you for that love alone.
I do not back down from leading if it is a thing that’s
needing done. I see the usefulness
in it, the guidance that it gives.
You taught and led and danced up front, and it taught me I could too. You said, “Stand up straight, don’t
slouch, don’t slump,” and it’s what I’ve tried to do.
This may not seem a strength, but listen to the end. I can get rather blustery, my
temperature rising, red in the face mad—I can rage with the best of them, yes,
I almost “like” to get mad. But
this, this very thing, has taught me self-control. I feel the steam coming on, and have to breath real
slow. I have not mastered this
task just yet, but I’m learning, maybe patience too? All that Momma, that came from you.
Mom, there really are a plethora (see how that reading came
in handy? I couldn’t spell it, but thankfully Spell Check could—since you were
my teacher I guess I got that from you too ;) of things that you taught
me. I can’t list them all, you
see, I’m still finding them all over.
Their popping up, hidden like the Easter eggs I used to love finding,
all colorful, and wonderful, and in the most random places.
So thank you, for this and that, and the stuff that will
continue to come. Thank you for
the tears you shed, the time you gave, the anger you choked on, the breaths you
took, the smiles you gave, the “righteous anger” you showed for me. Thank you for giving me talents that
are priceless, and don’t involve a pan, a spade, or a needle. You gave me things that can’t be
taught, or bought, and those are the most important anyway.
