Textures and Smells

Sometimes I see little old ladies with grey hair wearing the same kinds of clothes Mom used to wear and I get transported to random moments of being with her. I see her slightly-stooped posture. I smell her favorite perfume (Cotillion by Avon), and I feel her hand reaching for mine – for steadiness or for affection, it doesn’t matter which. 

I never was one to want to wear my mother’s clothes, at least not the polyester pants with the elastic waistbands. There were one or two of her blouses that I might try to commandeer, but it never felt right for me to utilize her wardrobe. It was the stuff of mom-ness, and I was just a child. For so many years, I have been just her child. Now that I have been catapulted into the realm of raising grandchildren that I inherited through my husband, I have skipped typical motherhood altogether and have to navigate the combined realm of parenting and grandparenting the same children all at once. I am often at a loss for how to proceed through this new maze I’ve wandered into, but slipping on a pair of Mom’s socks or one of her hand-painted t-shirts or sweatshirts can somehow make me feel like I know where I am going. She would probably laugh at that, because she did not believe that things held any power. Maybe the only power in it is God using those textures to jog the memories of times when I saw Mom model the loving ways of caring for others. 

I wish opening a bottle of Mom’s old perfume or brushing up against some fine polyester would bring her voice back with answers to any one of my current problems. For now, just know that if you see me asking a little old lady for a hug or inhaling deeply when one walks by, I am not stalking. I am remembering.

Five Minute Friday - Remember

On Fridays around these parts we stop, drop, and write.

For fun, for love of the sound of words, for play, for delight, for joy and celebration at the art of communication.

For only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just writewithout worrying if it’s just right or not.

Won’t you join us?

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Most importantly: leave a comment for the person who linked up before you – encouraging them in their writing!

OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:

Remember…

GO

Mama, I remember your scent. You always wore Avon Cotillion perfume (except when David was around, because he bought you that Chanel #5). 

I remember you "drawing" pictures on my back with your finger. It tickled. Sometimes I could guess what you were drawing. Sometimes I couldn't. But it was so fun being close to you.

I remember within the last few years, you started to show your emotions more - good and bad. You would stand behind Daddy and pretend to wring his neck when he would be talking about a harebrained idea or volunteering you for some project you didn't want to do. It looked so funny to see our calm, placid Mama show frustration for the first time.

I remember how you would catch us off guard with jokes. You told them so infrequently and could do so with a straight face. You could get us with the punchline every time because it was so unexpected.

I remember that rolled up mattress that used to be beneath my bed. The thunder and lightening would come and either me or David would come get you. You would pull out that rolled up mattress and lay on it with us so that we would feel safe while the house shook.

I remember so many Valentines Days when you would put a heart-shaped sandwich in my lunchbox. It was always those special little touches that set you apart.

Mama, I remember. I always will.

STOP


Okay, now let's go over to Lisa-Jo's place and see what other people are remembering.