They each look a little like my mother, standing there in the grocery store. The checkers in the store used to call the sisters shopping togethe,r "The Three Musketeers", but now there's only two.
Auntie Harriett is making out her check in advance, leaning the checkbook on the handle of the shopping cart. I guess she wants to be prepared.
I shuffle over to them saying, "Ooh.... look who I see!", and push my cart to the side to be on the receiving end of the inevitable warm embraces.
Auntie Harriett say lustily in my ear, "Give me a smacker!", as she lands a kiss on my cheek. Her hugs last about 4 seconds longer than anyone else's, but they're always welcome. She looks over her glasses at me and smiles, saying, "Just let me finish writing my name!", and goes back to focusing on her checkbook.
Auntie Dot takes her turn at at a hug and kiss after she walks down the aisle toward me with containers of Comet and SOS in each hand. I smell the familiar scent of Shalimar. "You look so good!" she enthuses, and I know she means it. She looks at me through her glasses, that make her eyes look so big. Dot or "Sister", as Mama always called her, looks most like my mother, especially now in the old age. Both sisters had little expressions that reminded me of her today, without even knowing, like a gift.
I miss Mom. I miss the person she was before the last years of confusion and frailty.
She was smart, caring, talented, and a shrewd businesswoman. Mama knew her real estate, made investments, paid her own bills, and made time to care for others, really care, by volunteering to spend time with them.
She always had special relationships with her grandchildren at her house where they always knew the candy jar would be full.
I miss hearing her play the piano.
On a hot day, she would always dry her hair outside in the sun. She sat in the backyard on the picnic table that Daddy made, rubbing her hair with a towel. She thought maybe the birds would find strands of her hair and work them into their nests.
I miss watching her toss crusts of bread out to the birds, and the thrill that you knew she got from watching those little birds. Guess I inherited that from her.
I miss seeing her cook in her own kitchen for all of us with her apron on, usually doing it all herself.
I miss her little poems, her paintings, her neat handwriting, her soft hair and her understanding spirit.
I miss her naive "oo-oo "sound that she'd make when she got excited about something.
I miss you, Mama. I know you knew I would.
Auntie Harriett is making out her check in advance, leaning the checkbook on the handle of the shopping cart. I guess she wants to be prepared.
I shuffle over to them saying, "Ooh.... look who I see!", and push my cart to the side to be on the receiving end of the inevitable warm embraces.
Auntie Harriett say lustily in my ear, "Give me a smacker!", as she lands a kiss on my cheek. Her hugs last about 4 seconds longer than anyone else's, but they're always welcome. She looks over her glasses at me and smiles, saying, "Just let me finish writing my name!", and goes back to focusing on her checkbook.
Auntie Dot takes her turn at at a hug and kiss after she walks down the aisle toward me with containers of Comet and SOS in each hand. I smell the familiar scent of Shalimar. "You look so good!" she enthuses, and I know she means it. She looks at me through her glasses, that make her eyes look so big. Dot or "Sister", as Mama always called her, looks most like my mother, especially now in the old age. Both sisters had little expressions that reminded me of her today, without even knowing, like a gift.
I miss Mom. I miss the person she was before the last years of confusion and frailty.
She was smart, caring, talented, and a shrewd businesswoman. Mama knew her real estate, made investments, paid her own bills, and made time to care for others, really care, by volunteering to spend time with them.
She always had special relationships with her grandchildren at her house where they always knew the candy jar would be full.
I miss hearing her play the piano.
On a hot day, she would always dry her hair outside in the sun. She sat in the backyard on the picnic table that Daddy made, rubbing her hair with a towel. She thought maybe the birds would find strands of her hair and work them into their nests.
I miss watching her toss crusts of bread out to the birds, and the thrill that you knew she got from watching those little birds. Guess I inherited that from her.
I miss seeing her cook in her own kitchen for all of us with her apron on, usually doing it all herself.
I miss her little poems, her paintings, her neat handwriting, her soft hair and her understanding spirit.
I miss her naive "oo-oo "sound that she'd make when she got excited about something.
I miss you, Mama. I know you knew I would.
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