Remember…

How do the years pass so quickly? 
How does the love never fly?
How do we keep on going,
Whenever a loved one dies?

The love is a blessing,
I thank God for it all my days,
It’s wonderful to have it still,
Even after loved ones part ways.

When we all get to heaven,
It will be a great reunion,
We’ll hug, kiss, laugh and cry,
A regular feast of communion.

Until that day, though,
We’ll hold fast our love,
We’ll remember our loved ones,
Living long up above.

We’ll hug, kiss, laugh and cry,
The loves we make down here,
Until the day that we die.

Elaine Wood-Lane

11/24/16

Repeat of Ode to Mother

This is a poem I wrote last year to my mother. I found it almost by accident this evening. I think it may be one of the best things I’ve ever written because it describes Mother so accurately. I know this is a day late, but I hope you will humor me.

 

Before I was born,
you protected me.
You wouldn’t let
them do a necessary
hysterectomy on you
because you knew there
was me, hidden deep inside.
Thank you for being protective
of me before anyone believed
I existed.

You continued to protect me
in so many ways until the
day that you left us.

Even the last time you
spoke to me, you were
giving me advice that
I didn’t really want to hear,
but I see the wisdom of…
now.

You fed me, clothed me,
changed diapers,
and was there to catch me
if I fell, ever, whether it was
as I took my first steps
or if I fell while trying to
learn how to skate.

You were always there with
bandaids for the scrapes
and scratches, the bruises
and dings of life.

You were not the sort
to go on and on with
sympathetic cooing
and oohing.

You would patch me up,
get me going,
and tell me to not think
about it and I’d be much better.

You were right.
Every single time.
You gave me courage
and impetus to get going
so many times
when I just wanted to give up.

You always listened to me,
giving me the benefit of your
wisdom and your love.

Sometimes you made me
absolutely crazy mad
with your attitudes,
your absolutes,
your stubbornness.

Maybe that was because,
usually,
I knew you were right
and I didn’t want to hear
about it.

You were always the strongest,
most confident woman
I ever met.

Fix a faucet? No problem.
Sew a fancy dress? No problem.
Keep your house clean? No problem.
Hold me when I couldn’t breath
because of asthma? No problem.
Get out of the car to tinker
with it in pouring rain because it died? No problem.
Put together a three course meal with dessert
when unexpected visitors came? No problem.
Wear me out with a paddle when I
rebelled and acted like a brat? No problem.
Stayed calm and collected when I got
lost at JCPenneys? No problem.
Teach me about Jesus and
what was true and what was not? No problem.

I always thought you had
all the answers to life.

I remember your pretty Sunday dresses,
your shiny high heels
as we walked into church.
The smell of Certs in your purse
when I opened it up to get something
for you.

Your ability to talk to anyone, anywhere,
and make them laugh and feel better
was amazing.
It embarrassed me to death sometimes
and I don’t know why.
You were simply being you!

There is so much I remember
about you Mother, that was good.

Then you grew weaker, sicker,
and eventually needed help
with everything: housecleaning,
showering, styling your hair or
dressing you in “that pretty robe, no,
not that one, the pink one.”
No problem.
I was happy to do for you,
what you did for me for years and years.

I cherish those moments.
I cherish all of the moments,
good, bad, and challenging.

I cherish especially a moment
as an adult when you were at
the end of your life and were
lost inside your own mind and
seemed unreachable.

I cried and prayed one day
that I just needed to “talk to my
mother!”

Two minutes later the phone rang,
and it was you, the real you.
You listened and gave me
some of the best advice ever.
Then you said you loved me
and was glad we got to talk.

I cried for ten minutes
afterwards for the blessing
of talking to Mother.

You weren’t perfect,
no one is,
but I always remember,
that you did the things you did
because you loved all of us so much.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mother.
I still miss you.
I still hear you in my head
sometimes when I
wonder what you would do
about something.

You were a great mother,
and I love you, still.

© Elaine Wood-Lane
5/10/15

West Texas Twang/NaPoWriMo Day 18

Doris Elaine Wood!
Where in the world are you?
It’s gettin’ dark out there
and supper’s ready!

I’m comin’, I’m comin’ Mother!
I was down the street at Sonya’s.

When I call you to supper,
I better not have to call you again!
What were y’all doin’ anyway?

We were just watchin’ the sun set.
It’s so pritty tonight.

The same sun sets at your house,
you silly girl!
Go wash your hands
before comin’ to the table.

I can’t see the sunset from inside
our house, Mother.
None of our windas face west!

Oooh, it smells so good in here!
What are we havin’ for supper?

Sammon paddies, mashed taters,
sop, green beans and biscuits.
Oh, and chili sauce if you want
some on your patatoes and sop.

It has been so many years,
since this nightly conversation
took place, but I remember
the accents, the sound of
Mother’s voice, and the lovely
aromas rising from our supper table
like it was yesterday.

I don’t say everything as I did,
but many words apparently
I still pronounce with the same
Texas twang that I did back then.

You can take the girl out of West Texas,
but you can’t take the West Texas out of the girl!

© Doris Elaine Wood-Lane
4/18/16


The challenge today is to write a poem that incorporates “the sound of home.” Think back to your childhood, and the figures of speech and particular ways of talking that the people around you used, and which you may not hear anymore.

Definitions:
Taters (potatoes)
Patatoes (potatoes)
Sop (gravy)
Sammon (salmon)
Paddies (patties or more correctly, croquettes)
Biscuits (non-yeast rolls)
Chili Sauce (a relish that looks like picante sauce, but is sweeter and has no hot peppers in it)

Elaine

I found a recipe making the rounds on Facebook for Southern Banana Pudding and suddenly I was back in the kitchen of my childhood on a Sunday morning after church making banana pudding as Mother instructed me on how to make it.

Sunday dinners (which in the South means the noon meal) were the biggest and fanciest meals of the week. Inevitably they meant we had either pot roast, which cooked in the oven while we were at church, chicken fried steak, fried chicken, or some other delicious meat that we didn’t ordinarily have during the week. Along with that, we’d had mashed potatoes (always!), homemade gravy and two or three other vegetables, often picked right out of our backyard garden. Then, of course, we’d have one of Mother’s delicious cobblers or pies. Mother sometimes made cakes, but as she was always quick to point out, “Your Aunt Mary is the cake expert, while I prefer to make pies.” Mother had the best pie crust I’ve ever eaten and her cobblers were so delicious that often I would try to skip the meal right on over to cobbler, but Mother never allowed that, of course! If Mother hadn’t made what she called a “real dessert,” we’d make banana pudding or we’d whip up a lemon meringue pie or chocolate meringue pie.

I loved Sunday dinners because that was when Mother’s wonderful cooking shined and when she taught me how to cook. Sometimes it would just be Daddy, Mother and I eating these huge meals, but oftentimes other family would come over too. If it was just Daddy, Mother and I, we’d save the leftovers and eat them for Sunday supper and continue eating them throughout the week. My favorite was Mother’s pot roast dinners because that meant on Sunday evening we’d have roast beef sandwiches with warmed gravy to top them off. I think I enjoyed that almost more than the big meal at noon.

Isn’t it funny how seeing one old recipe can spark so many wonderful memories in our minds? As I’m writing this, I’m seeing our old kitchen in my mind with the yellow countertops, antique white cabinets, and our old O’Keeffe and Merritt stove that cooked better than any stove I’ve ever used. It was huge, old-fashioned, and I was always a little embarrassed that we didn’t have a built-in stovetop and oven like my friends’ homes had, but in all honesty, that old stove was far better. I’ve seen a revival of interest over the last 20 years in these stoves. I’ve especially seen them in many television sitcom kitchens and am always surprised.

We also had an old Frigidaire refrigerator that wasn’t really very old at the time, but always seemed that way. Those, too, have become very popular again in vintage kitchens. I guess it is true that given enough time, everything comes back in style!

I must admit, I’d give anything for one more chance to cook a Sunday dinner at Mother’s elbow. She used every pot and pan in the house to cook these wonderful feasts and I had to wash the dishes afterwards, but the meal was worth it! So are the memories…

Thanks for going down memory lane with me today! I must admit, there are days when I really enjoy these trips!

Peace and love always,

Elaine

Before I was born,
you protected me.
You wouldn’t let
them do a necessary
hysterectomy on you
because you knew there
was me, hidden deep inside.
Thank you for being protective
of me before anyone believed
I existed.

You continued to protect me
in so many ways until the
day that you left us.

Even the last time you
spoke to me, you were
giving me advice that
I didn’t really want to hear,
but I see the wisdom of…
now.

You fed me, clothed me,
changed diapers,
and was there to catch me
if I fell, ever, whether it was
as I took my first steps
or if I fell while trying to
learn how to skate.

You were always there with
bandaids for the scrapes
and scratches, the bruises
and dings of life.

You were not the sort
to go on and on with
sympathetic cooing
and oohing.

You would patch me up,
get me going,
and tell me to not think
about it and I’d be much better.

You were right.
Every single time.
You gave me courage
and impetus to get going
so many times
when I just wanted to give up.

You always listened to me,
giving me the benefit of your
wisdom and your love.

Sometimes you made me
absolutely crazy mad
with your attitudes,
your absolutes,
your stubbornness.

Maybe that was because,
usually,
I knew you were right
and I didn’t want to hear
about it.

You were always the strongest,
most confident woman
I ever met.

Fix a faucet? No problem.
Sew a fancy dress? No problem.
Keep your house clean? No problem.
Hold me when I couldn’t breath
because of asthma? No problem.
Get out of the car to tinker
with it in pouring rain because it died? No problem.
Put together a three course meal with dessert
when unexpected visitors came? No problem.
Wear me out with a paddle when I
rebelled and acted like a brat? No problem.
Stayed calm and collected when I got
lost at JCPenneys? No problem.
Teach me about Jesus and
what was true and what was not? No problem.

I always thought you had
all the answers to life.

I remember your pretty Sunday dresses,
your shiny high heels
as we walked into church.
The smell of Certs in your purse
when I opened it up to get something
for you.

Your ability to talk to anyone, anywhere,
and make them laugh and feel better
was amazing.
It embarrassed me to death sometimes
and I don’t know why.
You were simply being you!

There is so much I remember
about you Mother, that was good.

Then you grew weaker, sicker,
and eventually needed help
with everything: housecleaning,
showering, styling your hair or
dressing you in “that pretty robe, no,
not that one, the pink one.”
No problem.
I was happy to do for you,
what you did for me for years and years.

I cherish those moments.
I cherish all of the moments,
good, bad, and challenging.

I cherish especially a moment
as an adult when you were at
the end of your life and were
lost inside your own mind and
seemed unreachable.

I cried and prayed one day
that I just needed to “talk to my
mother!”

Two minutes later the phone rang,
and it was you, the real you.
You listened and gave me
some of the best advice ever.
Then you said you loved me
and was glad we got to talk.

I cried for ten minutes
afterwards for the blessing
of talking to Mother.

You weren’t perfect,
no one is,
but I always remember,
that you did the things you did
because you loved all of us so much.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mother.
I still miss you.
I still hear you in my head
sometimes when I
wonder what you would do
about something.

You were a great mother,
and I love you, still.

© Elaine Wood-Lane
5/10/15

Margaret Inez Wood,
You always did the things that you should.
You told me one day, “Quit entertaining yourself,
and dust all the tables and shelfs!”

© Elaine Wood-Lane
4/26/15


And now for our prompt (optional, as always)! It’s the weekend, so I’d thought we might go with something short and just a bit (or a lot) silly – the Clerihew. These are rhymed, humorous quatrains involving a specific person’s name. You can write about celebrities, famous people from history, even your mom (hopefully she’s got a good name for rhyming with).

Obviously, I chose my mom! She was a good, tenderhearted woman, but didn’t believe in idleness in children or anyone…at all! If we were reading or goofing off and she found us, we were immediately put to work. I have to give her credit for teaching me how to work hard and not giving me time to even think about getting into trouble as a kid! I loved her very much and still think about and miss her every day. Peace and love, Elaine