Once again it is spring, warm breezes of May float across the green grass, it strokes the Hosta, Day Lilies, and Bleeding Hearts lightly; the daffodils’ leisurely bow their golden heads ready to sleep in the bosom of Mother Nature. May is also the month that my mother and father married.
They would have been married forty-five years when he died. My father was a man of few words, in those early days he turned over crimson soil with an old mule and one blade plow. The land within time would turn into a sea of the white gold; cotton. Later, he would work in a steel plant welding; the burns to his face and hands left deep brown scars. The way he led his life was a testament to his principles.
When the steel plant closed, he set out on yet another quest; he drove a sixteen wheeler making a California “turn around”, which was driving from Alabama to California and back weekly. He always had a supply of “Bennie’s”, known to be an “upper or speed”. He actually worked at this job until he retired; one month before he passed away. It was his job and drug of choice; with the blood of his Chickasaw ancestors flowing through his veins and Uppers, he was no doubt a “Bad Boy” on that three-thousand-mile road.
My mother, a gracious but cold-hearted woman of the South was among the “career” women of the time. She chose to be a beautician over being a mother. When she looked at me with those ice blue eyes and tight lips it sent fear deep into my soul. She left me to walk the furrowed red rows behind a plow and mule; my father did the best that he could to raise me.
My Aunt Vina, my father’s sister kept me during the summer months; she was the mother I did not have in those days. She taught me to read and write; I was living among the upper class, artist, writers, poets, and politicians. She and my father taught me how to love, be proud of who I am and believe.
As I walk through these last chapters of my life I find my home overflowing with paintings on my walls and those to finish on the table, hours spent in reading, writing stories and poetry fill my days and nights. This short walk down memory lane has been a happy and a sad one; some would say do not take that path through my memory. However, it is these memories that make up who I am and I like whom I am today.
Thanks to all of you who drop by to see new post. Have a great weekend, as I too will enjoy the beauty of spring all under a blue bird sky. eajm