The temperatures are starting to warm, our days are in the 40-50's now, sunset is coming later, and it's a tease. We're so anxious for spring, even the daffy's are starting to bloom, but in reality, we still have weeks before the days truly warm.
I always think of Mother in February. She would snip branches of Pussy Willow, bring them inside and force the buds to open. And as soon as the Forsythia started to bloom, she would always have a huge bouquet on her living room table. There were tulips by her back door, crocuses in her yard, she always made the seasons come alive with nature.
She didn't buy bulbs at the garden center, she dug them, or traded with friends, she loved making a home and did so without spending money. It's a trait to be admired, and the older I get, the more I appreciate what she was able to accomplish with so little.
She simmered orange peelings on the stove, tucked bars of soap in her lingerie draw for sachet, she ironed her pillowcases, swept her porch every morning, washed her windows weekly and scrubbed her floors on her hands and knees. Her pantry was always lined with jars of homemade food, and she fed anybody who came to her door. There was always a pitcher of tea in the fridge, and her house always had wonderful smells, it's such nice memories.
Heaven knows, we butted heads, my family is well aware of that, but now that she's gone, I remember her good traits, and there were many. She was such a strong woman, fiercely independent, a wonderful grandmother, she was an truly an old fashioned homemaker, and for that I admire her.
She will be gone seven years next month, I write about her often, and remember the good times. Regardless of how hold you are, there is no place like your mother's home, even if it's just in your memories...
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