A fond farewell

Yesterday my sweet Mema left this world. 

She fought long and hard with a fiesty spirit and warm love but in the end she was spent - I think she left this world the way she lived her life in it - fully with nothing left to give because she was always "spent up" for others.  Though its no surprise its hard to remember that her body was always meant to fade away one day - its the hard thing about these physical bodies - they wear out and hurt and fade but before that, and even in the process, they bless and love and serve.  My Mema used her life and body well - its easy to look at a body worn from 8 decades of life and see some bumps and bruises, see the weariness, see the weakness but I see something else -

I remember tender hands that always held a simple ring of gold, trimmed with orange blossoms and worn thin by 6 decades of wear.  One simple ring - a reminder of a simple promise "I do" that she swore over 60 years ago - words and promise that shaped the rest of her life and generations to come.  That ring of tenacous love that encircled two hearts and eventually a family.  Those hands baked cakes, hot glued, and sewed everything that would submit to her making - those hands typed (because everyone needs a useful skill) they corrected, they cleaned, they sent birthday cards, they held Rummy cards, they hugged and they held babies and somewhere tucked into her sleeve at her wrist was usually a soft Kleenex.

Her feet always willing to go and do.  From my perspective as a child I remember her feet - fresh in from work around lunch time with her high heels on, or walking through Cloth World with her Key West sandals, or walking the farm in her white Keds or barefoot dancing in the kitchen - she was always willing to go to whatever graduation or ceremony, whatever event to bless and just "be present" with the family she loved.  Her feet took her to Biloxi with her Love, to Puerto Rico to visit the youngest, to the homes of those she grew and birthed.

She had a mouth that spoke - sharp and witty, tender and sincere - and always whatever she meant to say exactly as she meant to say it.  It was framed by a smile that often was mischevious - a smile that was tender and yet full of spirit - a smile that often had a tongue behind it ready to stick out if needed.  Her lips held vaseline - loads of it that she wore as a balm - a balm that seems a secret source of comfort even for her great-granddaughter most nights.  Her words and voice still echo words of love and endearing moments - like her rendition of the Mississippi song she sang as we crossed the Mississippi river the summer I turned 8 and she took me to the World's Fair in New Orleans or of her ever so patiently reteaching her son-in-law to read and talk when his brain and body faded too early or when she talked to me years later on the phone and told me about the daily goings on of a house quieted by time but bursting with life lived well and sweet memories.

My Mema loved beautiful things but the most beautiful thing about her was not what she made - though creative, crafty or delicious but it was the impact on the hearts and minds of those she loved.  The beauty of a love of a man and woman determined to make it side by side through all of life - the beauty of observing the blossoming of a Christmas cactus or orchid and in the process how her tending and care caused the blossoming of her children and grandchildren.

I am a blessed woman to have had such a grandmother - my sweet Mema.

I baked a cake

Last night I baked a cake.  It was all I could do.  What else do you do when the Mema you love who taught you how to bake a cake is miles away fighting for life, sleeping fitfully on a hospital bed and you can't be there?  Oh how I wish I could be there.  It seemed the only thing to do even though I can't even find a pillow case for my pillows yet or cloths to wear to work the next day - baking a cake seemed more pressing - more important.  

My Mema taught me just how to take each cake layer out while still hot and spread cool whip on the layers and watch it melt, thinly ice the layers and then put it in the freezer...it "seals in the moisture just like Papa likes it"...  She taught me a lot more than cakes but alot of it was taught while baking a cake or waiting for one to bake.  We've all enjoyed those cakes, the celebrations surrounding them and the ordinary days that just needed a cake to make it better...and we love the hands that made them.

So I opened the windows and listened to the rain falling outside and baked a cake...It was all I could do.

Back door guests

I stepped out my back door the other day and stepped over the usual collection of treasures left by little hands.  Some sticks, a bird feather, some dirt.

If you come to my back door you'll not see any pineapples or a plaque welcoming you - but do expect to see wonder and mess and adventure scattered in the floor - just step over it and come on in - messes welcome here - trust me sometimes the floor inside doesn't look much better!

Another rainy day

I love the rain - don't you?

Rain Races - On your mark

Get set

Go!

She's walking away