When I think of my mother, this is the image of her that comes to my mind (that's her on standing on the left, visiting my Aunt Ioda, who was a great favorite of Mom's).
In my memory, Mom is still young, healthy, happy, and beautiful.
Mom is about thirty, I think, in this photo (wish I could read the date on that calendar!), and she never left our house without lipstick, nail polish, and high heels. In fact, she considered it somewhat vulgar and "common" for a woman her age to appear in public without such embellishment.
Mind you, she was born and raised very poor, in the hills of Tennessee, during the Great Depression. According to my mom, having class and self-esteem had nothing to do with where you were from, or how much you had. It had to do with who you were, and who you wanted to be.
She had the most amazing cat-green eyes, which could be quite unnerving when she'd caught me at some mischief. Neither I, nor my two brothers, inherited those remarkable eyes, although I do share a small portion of Mom's uncanny photographic memory. Remarkably, she knew the birth-dates of every aunt, uncle, and cousin.
However, some things remain a puzzle. For example, Mom always called my cousin Kay by the name of "Kay Frances." The odd thing is, that "Frances" is not Kay's middle name. Thelma Jean Powell, woman of mystery.
Now that's become a part of her legend.
I miss you, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day.
No comments:
Post a Comment