Precious Memories

Today I went to a gun show. My first ever. There was more testosterone in that room than at a Razorback game! It wasn't a huge room and there was a horse auction going on in the next room/arena. Yep, I said horse auction. You could smell it. Enough said.

I was amazed at the number of people who paid $8 to get into this show, amazed that I paid $8 to get in this show, amazed at the sheer number of guns, the kinds of ammo, and the other toys displayed. I saw a sign that said girl knives so I stopped to look. I thought "I didn't know they made knives just for girls!" Except it wasn't exactly what I thought. It was really just knives with pictures of scantily dressed women painted on them. Oh my. I'm sure I blushed.

There were big guns, little guns, old guns, new guns, knives that looked deadly, knives that looked decorative, brass knuckles, stun guns...I could go on. But that's not what I want to tell you about.

I came upon an exhibitor who had small cedar boxes, like for keeping jewelry, or old letters, or keepsakes in. I opened one up and the smell nearly took me to my knees. When I was about 10 years old (and my sister would have been 7) Daddy gave us cedar jewelry boxes for Christmas. They were a little larger than these and had a rounded top with a picture on the top. My sister still has hers but mine isn't with me any more. I have no idea where it is. I could have thrown it away or perhaps one of my daughters has it. I stood there and smelled the cedar and cried. And the exhibitor stood and patiently waited. He was a smart man - he knew not to question or to try to comfort me. He just waited. I bought two. Just for the smell. And the memories.

Farther down at another booth I found an old program that must have come from the Roy Rogers Museum. About the same age as above I was totally, completely, head-over-heels in love with Roy Rogers. My cousin, Carol, was in love with Gene Autry although I'm sure she couldn't possibly have loved Gene as much as I loved Roy. My grandmother used to give us quilts and send us to the front yard to play. Each quilt was a "house" for one of us. We had our dolls and we played for hours. I was Mrs. Roy Rogers and she was Mrs. Gene Autry. I left the program there because somewhere along the way the love of my life changed and Roy was just an old boyfriend. Thank goodness.

And for those of you interested I didn't buy a gun. Or a girl knife.

Sweet Moments

Have you ever experienced a “sweet moment?” I know you have – your wedding day the moment you first looked into your new husband’s eyes, the birth of your children, the day your daughter first tells you she’s in love. These are obvious ones and there are so many more. But sometimes they appear unexpectedly and are almost like the quick flight of a hummingbird – here and then gone in the blink of an eye. I had one this week and it was one I’ve savored all day today and will for many days to come.

Last night my husband and I were sitting quietly watching NCIS, a favorite of ours even though it was a rerun, and I was working on one of the Winter Wonderland redwork blocks when my telephone rang. When I answered my son said, “Mom, your granddaughter wants to talk to you.” He was referring to the one who will be 7 years old this Friday; yes, she was born on the fourth of July and is truly a firecracker! When she got on the phone she immediately yelled, “Grandma, I got my ears pierced!” You could hear the excitement in her voice and you could almost see her bouncing up and down. I could definitely picture this little face with its mischievous grin, which is missing about four teeth now. Having one of your grandbabies call you because she wants to share some exciting news with you has to be one of the sweetest moments God gives us. She loves her Grandma and couldn’t wait to share this wonderful moment in her life.

And then there’s the other side of the story. I’ve been lamenting for some time now my inability to multitask any more. This aging process seems to have profoundly affected that – I used to cook supper, do laundry, wash dishes and talk on the phone all at once. No more. And I definitely won’t let my husband eat a burger and drive at the same time, and rarely let him even say hello on the cell phone if he’s driving. Our reflexes are not what they used to be. But last night I did two things at one time without missing a beat. I heard my voice saying things like….oh my goodness did it hurt?...what kind of earrings did you get?…do you love them?....how long will it be before you can change them?...how often do you have to clean them and turn them?….Mommy let you do that for your birthday, right?.... I could hear the joy, I could sense her pride, I could almost smell her sweet little girl scent and feel the baby softness of her skin. And I knew I couldn’t rain on her parade.

But at the same time, in my head, I was screaming. Yes, I’m embarrassed to say, screaming. What in the world are you doing letting this baby pierce her ears? Shouldn’t she be 21 at least before she does that? Or maybe, sweet 16? Why couldn’t she wait on this terribly grown-up thing? Can’t we just keep her a baby for a little while longer? I wanted my babies to stay babies but they didn’t. I want my grandbabies to stay babies, and they won’t. One of them is already 20. I was married and had a baby by then and you know what that means don’t you? It means I could potentially some day soon be a great grandmother. Time doesn’t stop, and I wouldn’t want it to. But couldn’t it slow down just a little?

There are other sweet moments that I remember, moments that make me smile and some of them even generate a tear or two. I remember my oldest daughter, her red hair flying, running to me and crying when she was about 5 because she gave her roly poly bug a bath and he drowned. I remember my youngest daughter walking across the stage at her high school graduation as class valedictorian pausing to hug her Daddy who was Superintendent of Schools and who got to be on the stage with her. I remember the first time my all grown up son walked across the football field after coaching his first football game as a high school coach and kissing me right there in front of God and everybody.

And four years ago today I remember my mother opening her eyes and smiling the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen, greeting my father who had preceded her by four months and saying, “Where have you been? I’ve been ready for days! Where’s Jesus?” And off she went to rejoin her beloved husband and to meet Jesus face-to-face.

What are your sweet moments? Would you share them with us?

Where I'm From

I am from....

I am from ponytails, bare feet, pet rabbits and dogs and skunks, from Coca Cola and real butter, and The Ed Sullivan Show.

I am from quilts made from scraps and a use it up philosophy and suntans darkened by baby oil mixed with iodine.

I am from the mountains and from southern farmland, from playing outside till dark and catching lightenin' bugs.

I am from hydrangeas as blue as the sky and elephant ears by the front porch and fig trees in the back yard.

I am from campin' in tents and fishin' for supper, Sunday drives to see the crops, from Arthur and Wilma and Fred and Lois and Mattie and Christopher Columbus. I am from help out your neighbor and be polite and don't talk back.

I am from Kool Aid and butter & syrup sandwiches and chocolate gravy and work never killed anybody.

I am from Sunday School and Vacation Bible School and pinto beans and cornbread and clothes hangin' on the line.

I'm from Mulberry trees you could climb and walks to the public library.

I am from playin' at Grandma's feet and wearing her macaroni necklaces. I am from pickin' cotton and canning green beans. I am from playing Cowboys and Indians. I am from big gardens and old cars.

I am from big brothers and little brothers and little sisters and friends in the neighborhood and adults who'd spank my behind even if I wasn't their kid.

I am from black and white pictures, water coolers in the window, and slower times.

Where are you from?