A Tribute or a Treatise, It's For You, Mother

Here is another occasion for most of us to celebrate, and it is just around the corner of May for the year of 2012 Mother's Day.

For those of you who were not privileged to have a loving mother, this hub is given with sympathy and encouragement, for life however difficult may be repaired with time, other loves, discipline, and I believe also, faith in God.

This article is to give honor and respect to those women who were real mothers, those who reared and protected their children with sacrificial love, giving them yes, 'roots and wings'. That is putting it simply, factually and meant to portray for Mothers a special appreciation for their many unnamed gifts, with love and gratitude from their children. Additionally, this is specifically for my mother, past ninety, still active, and who was really a 'mother'. Neither slave nor tyrant, a real lady and not a prissy marm, she performed the tasks of her day, her family, without complaint; with energetic responsibility, and with genuine love. And *sacrifice...

*One small poignant example: I remember as a child asking my mother why she always ate the 'back and neck' of the chicken we had for supper. With the division of a hen into delicious edible parts for the four hungry male members and two female members...my mother someway always ended up with those portions. It was some time after my question, that the truth of her sacrificial love poured into my brain to enlighten my heart. Her answer to my innocent question had been a quiet "Because I like them." She liked them because of love!

Like many mothers, she loved flowers, gardening and had a dark green thumb. She could grow anything, pick its produce and either can it, freeze it, cook it, or eat it raw. I was required to assist in the hauling of old (it had to be very old) manure to chop into the garden soil. I learned about blistered hands from the hoe, and sweating (not glowing) while working in the hot Albuquerque sun. But Mother did it constantly and I didn't. It is almost unbelievable how busy she was, how much outside, inside work she accomplished. I had no idea for many years what was necessary to have garden fresh food, beautiful flowers to share with neighbors, luscious drippy fruit of several kinds. She never complained, and I never sassed!

I remember one year my father bought an eight-fruit-tree one Mother's day for my Mom, and she was delighted. It bore several different kinds of plums, peaches, nectarines apricots, and I don't know what else, but our family enjoyed it all. Along with grapes and every kind of garden produce, we ate healthy and plentifully. Her teaching intention was for her children to learn to live with integrity, self-generating responsibility, patriotism and hard work for whatever was needed. It was lived before us and that was the teaching, still the best kind.

She had taught school as an older teen (was there such a word way back then?) as did her parents in the western USA - the Arizona homesteading days of our pioneer history. Back in the days of real cowboys and even gold rush memories, on a horse much of her free time, she rode miles to school both as student and later as a teacher. The family homestead area is now almost filled with houses, but her favorite and beloved Dutch Hill still towers over the flat desert cactus, rills, and canyons not far from Show Low, Arizona.

Mother 'painted' with chalk as a young girl and had unusually gifted artistic talent. I treasure a still life painting she did as a very young woman. As a pre-teen myself in city surroundings, I remember her detailed work on sketches made to display at church. It made me feel good to hear the compliments regarding my mother's pictures, and requests for specific drawings.

When I was about six, I remember writing my first story, then showing it oh-so-proudly to my mother. She complimented me tremendously and I was thrilled. I did not know it but she had saved it and probably fifteen years ago gave me my story; on lined notebook paper, and written in only three lines. I was stunned to believe how she had supported my imagination with that evidence of my innocent but drastic insufficiency. But that was Mother.

In later years with two husbands passed, and children miles away, she began to paint with acrylics. Her sketches now began to be colorized most of the time, and she won several prize ribbons at local art shows. Her paintings of remembered western sites were admired and she won accolades the few times she entered a show. She wanted to put on paper what she had seen as a child and young woman, places of historical value, of legend, true compositions of what used to be. She insisted she must put them on paper before they were totally gone.

Still living in her little house, with a tiny garden, prized lizards and toads for friends, she feeds the doves and quail that visit her small green oasis. She waters and trims a twenty-five year old original Peace rose that blooms so beautifully every year. She plants her tomatoes and squash and cucumbers, and screams at the occasional tiny garden snake. We talk often, and much is memory, but get her goin' on 'TV junk' and she'll still let you know her lungs are healthy! She could straighten out this old world!

Most of her friends have transferred into eternity already, and she says she's ready, but not just yet: Though she does state her wings are waiting ready in the living room corner. No, she has many books yet to read, and her roses and lizards need her. And so do I, with such a huge lump in my throat -or is that just another big grateful heart? Thanks, Mother. I love you.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO YOU!

And now recently, Mother has sold her little oasis home and moved a few miles away to a lovely larger home where two brothers help care for her. Though she still drives to shop at Wal-Mart or visit the thrift shop, she leaves much of the transportation tasks to others. She often spends a couple of hours at Fain Park in nearby Prescott Valley where there is a fishing lake, ducks and lots of grassy shade. She no longer fishes herself - a once-favorite pastime - but is content to enjoy and brag on those visitors who catch 'a big one'.

Her heritage roses are now blessing someone else. There are new lizards climbing the block fence at her new home. She has invited several dove families to feast in the small back yard, making sure there is plenty to eat for all. Her window view is now houses rather than the double hump of Glassford Hill. But even this spring she has started her tomato seeds and she is thinking which vegetables she will plant in her miniature garden box.

The integrity of her life still is based on that foundation of her faith in God. Though her physical challenges portray fragility of age, her intent remains to prove worthy of her pioneer heritage, the rewards from hard work, and the hope of Heaven with many reunions to come someday. Yes, she still lives with hope and Love surrounding!

There are some who are 'Mothers' who never physically bore children. There are those who mother with perception, grace and love who are actually fathers. I have wished to include thanks and gratitude to those who have accomplished this chosen task, for whatever reasons it became necessary. Perhaps it was not fully by choice that becoming a Mother erupted into reality.

To all those beautiful and responsibly sacrificial loving people out there somewhere, take this token of sincere appreciation, this shared gratefulness of your sacrificial giving, and bless yourselves with it. You deserve accolades galore, and this is one for you.

Happy Mothers Day to you all!