a sesame street memory… sweet blackberries at play … and mama

Sometimes it just happens…

That nudge that I’ve felt for weeks, sometimes months.. the nudge to come here and write.  But I can’t open the blog that reminds me of my sweet mama.  And what memory is it anyway that is trying to break through?  The nudge.  The whisper.  The tickle just on the edge of remembering.  This one has been at me for months now.  I’ve tried to come and write.  But I can’t finish a thing.  And I remember that she took my writing voice when she left, and darn it all if I can’t get it back.  And then out of the blue, a memory comes through.  Fading through the fog of forgetting, like the reel of an old time-ey movie starting to turn.  And I look at the white wall that it’s playing on,

and suddenly I’m just there.

We lived in two houses on Powerline Road.  The first one we called the Parker house, because we rented this one from the Parkers across the street.  This is the house half of my childhood memories are in.  It was a tiny white house.  A covered porch with a wooden floor spanned the front.  Two wide cement steps led to the front yard of dirt and no grass.  Mama and Daddy parked the cars anywhere in the front.  Daddy even parked the school bus in the front dirt yard when he drove one, the school bus that we played “The Partridge Family” in (pretending to be the family in the popular TV sit com we watched growing up).  There was a barn, part of it with doors, part of it without, beside the house, with two huge pecan trees in between.  And a big garden on the other side of the barn that we were allowed to garden in during the summers.  We had plenty of grass in the big back yard, where you would find a long clothes line where mama hung clothes in the summer, rabbit cages, chicken coops, and goat stalls.  And woods behind the animal cages.  Woods we would play in non stop.  A swing set was clear on the other side of the house, opposite the garden, where mama could watch us from the kitchen window.

me on our swing set

me on our swing set

As I remember it, blackberry bushes grew wild along the side of the yard where the swing set was, and all the way back to the farm animals, and our play time snacks often meant stopping just long enough to grab a handful of them to shove in our mouths so we wouldn’t have to stop playing to eat.  They were the biggest, juiciest blackberries in all the world, and I have never had any as good since.

I have a distinct memory of lunch times in this house.  We would be called in for lunch, and for a little down time to give mama a break probably.  Mama would be dressed in one of her dresses, a pretty yellow one was one of my favorites.  She often wore headbands or scarves, to keep her pretty hair, dark and long and flipped up at her shoulders, out of her face.  She wore sandals most days, tennis shoes some days.  The baby would go down for a nap and we would be required to be quiet and still.  Mama, I am sure, made us a variety of lunches but my most vivid memory is of her sitting us down in the tiny living room, in front of “Sesame Street” with a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup that she would have heated up in a small sauce pan on our old time-ey stove (no microwaves back then kiddos).  She would bring us our bowls, piping hot, with saltine crackers.  Sitting contentedly, watching TV, was not a problem.  We didn’t get a lot of TV time as youngsters.  Mama did not use the TV as a babysitter.  I don’t remember what she used to do while we ate our soup and the baby napped.  Since bubble bathing was not her style, I imagine she plum collapsed onto her bed instantly in the “half-sleep” that all mama’s learn once we are mama’s.

I don’t remember how long Sesame Street lasted, probably half an hour, no longer than an hour.  And that’s all the quiet time she would get the whole rest of the day.  We would head back outside right after our TV watching and chicken noodle soup, to the land of imagination and play time and fresh blackberries off the bush.

mama, tammy, me, max, and some of the animals

mama, tammy, me, max, and some of the animals

My happiest memories are in this tiny house with it’s big yard.  Probably because I was younger and the world of teenage-hood and low self esteem and homework had not closed in on me yet.  Probably.

hummingbird visits… and christmas… and mama… and LOVE…

It's Christmas time again.  How did it come again so fast?  But not fast at all.  The days are long, but the years seem so short.  How does that work?  Do you get to figure all that out in the place where you are? Hummingbirds.  We've named … [Continue reading]

Dear Ukraine, please take care of my baby girl…

It's happy.  It's sad.  It's good and it's bad.  It's up.  It's down.  For the child it's amazingly wonderful and exciting and character defining.  For a mama.  Well.  My head tells me it's all those great things.  My heart screams out that it just … [Continue reading]

RSS
Follow by Email
Facebook
Facebook
Google+
Google+
http://www.omasheartblog.com/">
Pinterest
Pinterest
Instagram
%d bloggers like this: