Mama's Hands

Mama would be 71 on June 20. She's been gone for nine years. Has it been that long? For a long time after she died I still reached for the phone to call her and when I drove past her neighborhood I would get a lump in my throat or tears would gather in the corner of my eyes. I miss her so! There are little things I miss the most; going by to see her on a Saturday before she went to work. She always had fresh coffee made and a cake or something sweet to eat. That was the German in her - she would show her love by feeding you.

She always put her family first. Mama was not a modern, liberated woman. The only thing she ever wanted to be was a wife and mother.  She had a sweet and caring spirit and a sensitive soul and a forgiving heart. And she loved her grandchildren. I remember her last Christmas. Weak from her illness she had still managed to buy toys for the little ones and store them in the closet. I wrapped the presents for her and she gave me money to buy the rest.

Mama was never going to grow old. She had that European porcelain skin, not a wrinkle in sight. Mama believed in cold cream. And at 61 she still dyed her hair a rich, auburn color. Her hands were beautiful and didn't look like the hands of a waitress at all. Mama took care of her hands and she didn't go to a salon.

I look at my raggedy cuticles and chewed off nails and my wrinkled hands and wonder if there is some miracle cream that would give me hands like my mother had. I doubt it.

Happy Mother's Day,

Anita

"I Had a Choice Today"

I had a choice today

to feel sorry for myself

or wake up with a smile

I had a choice today

to speak with anger

or stop a careless word

I had a choice today

to break a promise I had made

or keep my word and follow through

I had a choice today

to lie, cheat, or to deceive

or be honest and tell the truth

I had a choice today

to hold myself in high esteem

or humble myself before the Lord

I had a choice today

to turn my back on someone who needed me

or bend over and help them back up

I had a choice today

to speak words of hatred

or speak encouraging words

I had a choice today

to nurse a grudge and carry a chip on my shoulder

or forgive as the Lord as forgiven me

I had a choice today

to wish that I was someone else

or accept the person God wants me to be

I had a choice today

to cry bitter tears for things I cannot change

or hope for a brighter future

I had a choice today

to reject my faith and turn my back on God

or accept him fully in my heart

I had a choice today

Did I make the wrong choice?
 Or did I choose the right way?

I had a choice today

because it's never too late

to get down on your knees and pray

Blessings,

c Anita M. Ashworth 2010

"A Southern Childhood" - a Poem

I have been inspired to write a poem beginning with "I am" by published author and blogger Sheryl Ann Crawford, here, who has written many children's books. She recently highlighted a beautiful poem written by Janet, from West Virginia. I wrote this one with thoughts of my Tennessee cousins in mind.

“I Am”

I am from poor dirt farmers

Working in the fields

With backs hunched over

Wiping the sweat from their brow

And I am from the blue collar workers

Who worked a 40-hour week

Never asking for a hand-out

Just wanting to make a living

I am a singer of Gospel songs

Saved in a little country church

With folks waving their funeral parlor fans

In a chorus of “Amens”

I am from playing outside after dusk

Swatting mosquitoes on a hot, summer's eve

Walking to the corner grocery store

For a cold bottle of Coca Cola

I am from rusty pick-up trucks

Fishing ponds and coon dogs,

Cotton fields and tire swings

Listening to the whistle of a train

I am from a Southern childhood

From biscuits made from scratch

Sweet tea, and wraparound porches

And Jesus as my Savior

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2010

Mama's Boy

"It's a boy," the doctor said, as he laid the child in her loving arms. Blonde hair, brown eyes, he toddled behind her, her baby boy. She held him and rocked him and scolded him and played with him and was so proud of him, but mostly she just loved him, because he was hers and he was the baby.

When he was five years old she took him to the photography studio to have his picture made in his cowboy outfit because he wanted pictures to hand out like the older kids. He smiled from ear to ear, his hair slicked back, cute as a button.

When he started school she watched him get on the big, yellow school bus, following his older brothers and sister and turned around to wave at her. When he threatened to run away from home, his belongings packed in a plain, brown paper bag, she watched him walk down the street, his shoulders low, until he turned around and came home. With tears in her eyes she scolded him and told him to "never do that again."

He grew up tall and skinny and she watched him through the awkward teen years, full of youthful mischief. He was charming with the girls and voted "Most Polite" and "Biggest Flirt" by his classmates.

And she watched him get on the bus once more, after his high school graduation. He came home a man, this time wearing a uniform that Uncle Sam had given him, a soldier ready to go to war. She watched with a mother's pride and a mother's anxiety as he was shipped off to an Asian country, dropped in a jungle with other rookie soldiers far from home. Two months later she received the news that he'd been shot, but he going to be alright. It mangled his hand, but he was alive.

She saw her boy get married and have children of his own. He was a grown-up now, but he never forgot her birthday and never forgot Mother's Day. He was still a Mama's boy at heart and called on the weekends to see how she was getting along. He still had that boyish charm and love of life and playful sense of humor.

The years passed and life was full of ups and downs, but she always had her children to care about. Then one day it all changed. Her youngest boy was sick and it was serious. The doctors offered treatment, and she clung to hope. And so she was by his side when God called him home, the son she had brought into the world. Mama's boy.

(In memory of my husband, Don)

A Lucky Day

My granddaughter's Kindergarten class had Kite Day this past Friday. However, there was barely a breeze, so the kites didn't make it off the ground. My granddaughter tried again the next day, excitedly dragging her kite along the ground, hoping for a lift-off.

My daughter and her husband finally tilled their garden this weekend and shopped for plants. Erika was so excited about the garden and couldn't wait to put the seedlings in the ground. She gave up a shopping trip with Mawmaw to stay home and help Daddy. "Today is my lucky day," she said, referring to the garden. She is five years old. Things that we take for granted are a big deal to a five-year old. Simple things. Flying kites. Vegetables. Sunshine.

"Talking to a Grave"

I go to a place

Where I stand alone

Where once was a patch of dirt

Now your name is etched in stone
I say hello

I love you
I miss you
And wish you were here
My conversation sounds hollow
As I get down on my knees
There is only silence
But for the whisper of a breeze
I blow you a kiss

Before I say good-bye

And I want you to know

Once more

I love you

I miss you

And wish you were here


(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2009

Black Forest Cherry Cake

A friend asked me to bake her a Black Forest Cherry Cake for her birthday, so I did. Here is my very simple recipe.

Black Forest Cherry Cake

1 Box of Devil's Food Cake Mix
1 Pint of Heavy Whipping Cream
1/4 Cup confectioner's Sugar
1 Can Cherry Pie Filling

Pre-heat oven to 350. Bake cake as instructed on back of cake mix in two 9-inch pans. When cool, place first layer on cake plate and spread 2/3 can of cherry pie filling over the layer. Top with second layer. Whip the heavy cream with the confectioner's sugar until stiff enough to spread. Put remaining cherry pie filling on top layer and ice the whole cake with the whipped cream. You may garnish with Maraschino cherries or chocolate shavings.

Enjoy!

Easter

I love this time of year. A time of joy and renewal.

A time to celebrate the resurrection of Christ.

We also celebrated my granddaughter's birthday this weekend.

I had time to color eggs, and eat the chocolate ones.

I had time to bake cupcakes, not from scratch, though, and the decorations were store bought. They still looked  pretty with the pastel sugar sprinkles.

My grandson on his first Easter Egg Hunt, taking it pretty seriously.

Have a blessed week!

Kids Say the Darndest Things

My oldest granddaughter, Erika, who is in Kindergarten, has been sick a lot this year. Since Christmas she has rarely gone to school an entire week because of holidays, bad weather days or being sick. She missed three days last week because of a nasty stomach bug. She told my daughter, Carrie, the other day, "I used to go to school every day, but I don't anymore."

When she was home last week, her little sister wanted Erika to help her fill her juice cup. Erika quickly responded, "Allie, I can't help you right now. I'm sick. You'll have to ask Lucas to help you." Lucas, my grandson, is 20 months old.

She also wanted to get an early start on Christmas and decided to write Santa a letter. What prompted her was an advertisement on TV for a toy called "Pillow Pets." She told her Mom to tell Santa that the website was http://www.pillowpets/  so he wouldn't forget. Oh, and she wanted Carrie to take the letter to the mall to make sure Santa gets it. I'm sure Santa doesn't get too many letters in March!

My younger granddaughter, Allie, I'm afraid, is turning into a little hypochondriac. She is not like other children who kick and scream when it comes to taking medicine. She is happy to take her dose. And if you have a pain or ache, don't you know she does, too!  When Carrie had to go to the doctor recently, little Allie spoke up, "Me ick, too, (fake cough, twice)," and wanted to go. No wonder she enjoys playing doctor so much.

Time to Slow Down

Things have been so busy lately

that my feet haven't touched the ground.

I'm running from morning until night,

with no end in sight.

I need a minute, or two, to collect my thoughts,

to hit the pause button on my life,

and breathe slowly.

I need to slow down;

there's so much cramming in my head,

and not enough time to savor the moments.

Get up, go to work, go to bed.

I want to stop and smell the flowers,

gaze at the moon and the stars,

take a drive down a dusty road

and forget the time on the clock.

I want to have long conversations with an old friend

over iced tea on the front porch

and we'll hug each other's necks

when it's time to leave and say good-bye.

because old friendships are a rare and beautiful thing

I want to browse to my heart's content in second- hand stores

finding lost treasures that someone slipped in a box

or the vintage find that reminds me of a childhood memory

now collecting dust in an antique store

I want to sip coffee, slowly,

with the newspaper spread all around

and time to clip recipes and coupons;

read the funnies and work the crossword puzzle.

I want to play with the children

and get down on the floor,

 read stories that make them laugh

and tickle their funny bone

I want to bake from scratch

the recipes my mother used to make

and pour me a cup of tea

from the teapot that I inherited.

I want to listen to soft music

that drowns out the noise

and latest headline news

I want to spend time talking to God

and listening to what he has to say

instead of always feeling rushed

and being on my way

And when I do,

He'll give me a moment, or two

To slow down 

and hit the pause button

So I can stop and breathe.

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2010

Thought for the Day

A friend shared this with me and I just had to post it on my blog.

 I am not perfect

but Jesus

thinks I am

to die for

Blessings,

Like a Cedar of Lebanon

Psalm 92:12-13

The righteous will flourish like a palm tree,
they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon;
 planted in the house of the Lord,
they will flourish in the courts of our God.

In biblical times cedar trees were plentiful in the Holy Land.

The cedar is mentioned in the Bible over 70 times. In ancient history it was used for building ships and temples. The Egyptians used the resin for mummification (from Wikipedia). Cedar wood was also used in purification rituals in treating infectious diseases (Leviticus 14). 

In modern times cedar wood is desirable over other types of wood.

It's fragrance is well-known and it is a strong and solid hardwood, resistant to rot and decay.

 It is small wonder that we like to store our woolens in cedar chests and closets.

The trees may reach a majestic height of 100 feet or more.

The cedar has many characteristics that we, as Christians, can strive for.

Are we resistant to rot and decay (sin)?

Will our faith endure and withstand the storms of life?

Will others recognize our fragrance?

Are we like a 'cedar of Lebanon, planted in the house of the Lord?'

Things that Make Me Smile....

My daughter and her husband made last minute plans to go to a Jason Aldean concert last night and needed a baby-sitter. Maw-maw here agreed to come over after work and watch the girls. My daughter had made Chicken Pot Pie, my recipe, for supper and it was delicious! Before long, the girls brought out their games and taught me how to play "Hungry Hippos." I felt like a loser, two little girls beating their Grandma. That's okay. Wait until they get older and I'll pull out the old Scrabble game:)

 My three year old grand-daughter likes to play doctor and made me lie down on the floor. She proceeded to poke and prod me with every fake medical tool in her doctor's bag. She slipped the plastic band-aid, like a bracelet, on her wrist, checked my heartbeat with the stethoscope and shoved the thermometer in my mouth. She definitely needs to learn some bedside manners, I decided, because she was kinda rough.

At bedtime, my five-year old grand-daughter wanted me to read "Green Eggs and Ham", a book I haven't read in 25 years. I let her read the "Sam, I am" part and soon she was reading whole paragraphs. Do I like "Green Eggs and Ham?" I will read it from time to time; I will read it in my prime; but I cannot, I will not, eat green eggs and ham, not on a dime.