MoMemories of Mom
When I think of my mother, I see her sitting at the kitchen table - a cup of coffee in front of her (Nescafe or Sanka with milk and one sugar) held in a dark brown ceramic cup, steaming alongside the smoke from her True Blue brand cigarette resting in a homemade ashtray, made from the hands of one of her six children. She is smiling and inviting those in front of her to sit down and join her in thoughts and conversation.
My mother loved to chat. She was a master at the art of coffee talk before coffee talk was a thing. She had an impressive and sometimes startling talent at soon getting to the moment held in your heart, and she would listen, offering her own stories, experiences, and wisdom to go along with yours. You could take the stories for what they were worth, and for me, they were worth their weight in gold. Her goal it seemed, was the joy in the communion of words brought together and the possibilities they held.
The simple truths that would arise in conversation revelations, became universal in the ease of back and forth thoughts and ideas shared. Whether the person close or strange, common ground was always found. If you had an opportunity to experience the magic of her way and let your story dance with hers, you were left energized and rested in her wake.
Thank you mom for the gift of your stories. They are unwrapped still today when dancing with your memory. I love you. Happy Birthday (5/12) and Happy Mother’s Day. xomo