by Noella Noelophile®
(Royalty-free image by josch13 from Pixabay.)
My mother had a great sense of humor, and an appreciation of beauty and magic.
Which is all the more admirable, considering that, in her life, circumstances often were anything but humorous, beautiful or magical.
As a teenager during the Depression, she desperately wanted to go to college and become a teacher.
However, she was the third of four children. While my grnndfather was one of the few men in the community who had a job, the funds just weren’t there.
(Royalty-free image by Sabrina from Pixabay.)
Instead, she ultimately trained as a secretary. I can remember her, at our old Royal manual typewriter, typing a letter for my father. Lightning-fast and accurate, she could have fooled anyone into thinking she’d found her calling. With the resilience and determination of her generation, she made the best of the situation.
She’d often come up with whimsical turns of phrase in everyday life. When she was headed out to run errands, for example, she’d say, “I guess I’d better get on my horse.” And one day when she was trying to leave the house quickly, only to have a button fly off her coat and her nylons snag, she exclaimed, in exasperation, “More hurry, less speed!”
(Royalty-free image by stanbalik from Pixabay.)
Mom was quick to spot beauty: in the ocean waves under the moon, a robin in the front yard on a spring morning, or a natural arch of green trees during a vacation in the Pocono Mountains. “The Green Cathedral” was what she dubbed one such formation–and it did, indeed, look like the archway to a church entrance!
One of her best gifts, though, was sharing the magic of creativity.
A ninety-nine-cent box of dime store Christmas ornaments (back when there were dime stores!) turned a corner of our living room into a magical glade. Her books, from the years before she was married, sat in the bookcase in my grandmother’s house, to be read and shared when we’d visit. And she’d always encourage any type of artistic work. Our bus trips to “the city” invariably included a stop at the yarn and craft shop, which carried then-exotic supplies such as star sequins, beads and angora wool.
Royalty-free image by BlazingFirebug from Pixabay.)
A talented crocheter and knitter, she herself was always making something for our church bazaar.
“See?” she’d ask, holding up a lacy, scallop-shell-patterned baby sweater.
Her humor came through in numerous, unexpected ways. Throughout my growing-up years, as a not-entirely-angelic and often rebellious child, she’d say, “You’re not 21 yet. Don’t tell me what you will and won’t do!”
Then, on my 21st birthday, as I bathed, she walked into the bathroom. “Did you wash behind your ears?”
We shared a laugh–and one of our classic “silly” moments. Silly things made us laugh and we were always close–a gift I have come to value more and more over time. There wasn’t a day in my life that I didn’t know I was loved and supported in my goals.
Royalty-free image by Manfred Richter from Pixabay
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thank you for all your gifts. I miss you.