Mother’s Day Ode

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Hydrangeas

Relatives tell me I look a lot like my late mother (she would never have liked the term late, for indeed, she was always on time for any appointment).

While we do share some characteristics (like the patented “snort and cackle” when laughing – the snackle, if you will) and a penchant for saying to unresponsive teen-age ears, “Enunciate!,” I’d have to say we were not really all that similar.

  •  She spoke five languages.
  •  I speech wun (Inglich).
  •  She played Bach like nobody’s business.
  •  I play the radio like a professional.
  •  She was genteel and cultured.
  •  I am kinda like, from Jersey (she was too, but seemed less so, if youse know what’m sayin.)
  •  She was always in my corner and cheered me on no matter what.
  •  I was oblivious to her encouragement until it wasn’t there anymore.

Thank you, Lord, for the mother you gifted me with.  I hope she’s snackling up there with you, playing a fugue on the piano and sitting in that log cabin she always pined for.  God bless all the mothers, always in our hearts.

Miss You, Dad

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On Cheers, the older bartender, Coach, is standing behind the bar.  As he goes into his office, Sam says to Coach, “If anyone calls, Coach, I don’t want to be bothered,” to which Coach replies, “Who does?”

My father used to love Cheers.  He’d quote that line to me when I’d drop by and it became kind of a call and response code for “Glad to see you” or “I love you but can’t say it since I’m a research scientist and I don’t do emotions that often.”

Dad:  So Ruth, if anyone calls, I don’t want to be bothered.

Me:  Who does, Dad?

On the day that my Dad passed away in August, 1999, I was at work and my mother called to say she was worried.  Dad wasn’t responding when she spoke to him.  I rushed over to the house and as I walked in, I didn’t see anyone right away but I heard a strange noise, so I followed it into the kitchen.  There was a very plump bumblebee, sputtering and jerking forward suddenly as if it was new to this bee-body vehicle.  It made buzzing noises on and off and seemed to be flying in slow motion.  I sat down at the table.  The bee hovered a few feet away from me.  We just looked at each other.  Finally, I opened the screen on the window and the bee flew out.

Down the hall, my mother and the paramedics were talking, and they told me my dad was gone.  In my heart, I knew he wasn’t gone.  Just buzzing off to a new adventure.

God bless all the fathers on their special day.  The ones who are here and the ones who are away.

Mother’s Day Ode

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Relatives tell me I look a lot like my late mother (she would never have liked the term late, for indeed, she was always on time for any appointment).

While we do share some characteristics (like the patented “snort and cackle” when laughing – the snackle, if you will) and a penchant for saying to unresponsive teen-age ears, “Enunciate!,” I’d have to say we were not really all that similar.

  •  She spoke five languages.
  •  I speech wun (Inglich).
  •  She played Bach like nobody’s business.
  •  I play the radio like a professional.
  •  She was genteel and cultured.
  •  I am kinda like, from Jersey (she was too, but seemed less so, if youse know what’m sayin.)
  •  She was always in my corner and cheered me on no matter what.
  •  I was oblivious to her encouragement until it wasn’t there anymore.

Thank you, Lord, for the mother you gifted me with.  I hope she’s snackling up there with you, playing a fugue on the piano and sitting in that log cabin she always pined for.  God bless all the mothers, always in our hearts.

Humble Thanks

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Bless the soldiers who sacrifice,
who serve and do us proud.
Protect these home-grown heroes
out there in a foreign field,
on the front lines
where fear and fate intersect.
Place them in Your perpetual care.
Bring them back to us intact,
back to the warmth of home,
the smell of fresh bread,
mom in an apron, flour on her face,
the high school sweetheart, with a promise ring.
Back to the things they are fighting for.
From my Prayable, A Soldier’s Story, on http://www.prayables.com