It’s something I do with every towel I hang on the outside line to dry — give it a good “whip” to remove most of the wrinkles. I don’t remember ever NOT snapping my towels as I hang them to dry. It is something I watched and/or heard Mom do times too numerous to know.
Today, however, seemed to be the day I REALIZED I too snap the towels. Bittersweet are the memories of Mom at the clothesline, whether it be heated or cool days; handful of clothespins, armful of clothes, a corner of material in each hand – whip, snap, pop! then onto the line. Quick as a flash, she would repeat the maneuvers until the lines were full or all the laundry was hung out to dry.
All the while her lips would be moving in talking fashion, but her voice could not be heard. I don’t even know if she realized her lips were moving. There was so much to be accomplished, maybe she was plotting her strategy to make the most of her time…or maybe she was rehearsing a conversation she needed to have…or, could she have been singing…could it have been praises…
Now, I wish I had been brave enough to ask her.
I “snapped” a towel today
Calling plan….
“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!”
“Oh, thank you, you’re the (whichever number) to call!”
Was it a race be the first to call with Mother’s Day greetings? No, the important thing was the callee. This year, we won’t have to race…doesn’t mean we won’t pick up the phone to call…it doesn’t mean we won’t want to call…we just can’t use the phone.
I will, each year continue to say, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom” — I miss you! and I will, at least in my heart, hear her say, “Oh, thank you, honey, I’m so glad you called. I miss you, too!”
How I Quit Smoking – Once Was Pencils
Warm Sunday afternoon sun flooded the car parked in front of the RH where inside Dad was quenching his thirst. Sister MF and I were forbidden entrance (unless we had to pee, then if we could “hold it” ’til we arrived at Mom’s employment, it was a far yet better thing to do).
Windows open on our four-door sedan, the hot Missouri breeze tussled our pixie cuts as we “drove” down Highway 5 on a shopping excursion to the C’ville mecca with an abundance of pretend dollars at our disposal and a recently purchased package of no. 2 pencils to replenish our school supplies.
Emulating Mom and JB during their many games of cribbage, we “smoked” pencils and called each other kid. Now, to smoke a pencil, it should be noted that it definitely needs to be a new one. The eraser end must remain to the outside because, you see, that is the “light”. The new blunt end will probably not cause as much injury to the upper palette if there is an unfortunate accident, as I will soon profess to.
I was “driving” as MF and I made decisions as to where our journey would take us, when a car came out of nowhere to park beside us. Old enough to be embarrassed caught smoking a pencil, I quickly ducked my head. And unlike a real “smoke”, the pencil did not bend or break! Oh, the pain! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that pencil was stuck in the roof of my mouth, taking some effort to remove it.
I don’t recall much bloodshed. Just the tears welling up in my eyes as I removed the rather stable protrusion, AND the horrified look on little MF’s face. How would we tell our parents I was smoking a pencil and was injured? We didn’t, or at least I didn’t. It was not mentioned by them, so I’m pretty sure MF didn’t either. But that, my friends, was the day I quit smoking pencils!
Years later, the pencil incident, the “man without a voice box” visiting our school to lecture us on the dangers of smoking and cancer, nor my grandpa’s death from lung cancer dissuaded me from smoking cigarettes. A (I can now say– nasty) habit I clung to off and on for nearly three decades.
I have quit nicotine and the physical habits that accompany it four times now. The last time being five years ago.
I’ve tried to start again — to calm my nerves — but they taste horrible and I notice people have a distinct odor. There seems to be nothing worse about the odor thing than an ex-smoker.
My desire to stop the nicotine habit derived from religious convictions. I was working with youth and knew that was a bad example for them — I didn’t want them smoking pencils. Every time I would “light up” I would pray, “God, I know this is not what you want for me and know that my body is your temple and I’m harming Your temple. Please forgive me.” Then I prayed, “God, I want to stop this crazy nicotine ruling my life, but I don’t want to eat like a horse, I don’t want to have the cravings for nicotine, and I don’t want it to bother me to be around others who do smoke.”
He’s still being faithful!
If My people who are called by My Name will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land. — 2 Chron. 7:14 NIV
The Family Curse?
What a vile and evil thing you are
drawing those I love into the bar.
You control their lives
’til they can’t see
the pain, the hurt, the fear in me.
Grandfather, father, brother and husband
fell under your wicked spell.
The number of lives you’ve torn apart?
We aren’t yet able to tell.
Grandmother, mother, me and my kids?
We’ve all secretly cried and kept things hid.
The cycle must be broken…
another generation must not pass
to feel the pain and sorrow
of the lifting of the glass.
