March 29, 2013

• Mama’s Tender Moments

  The Easter Sunday morning seemed to bring some few hours of peace to our mother, for whereas Christmas broke her heart for the lack of a little present when she was a child and her mother’s dried apples all stacked on a fresh baked cake would fill her with anguish, for Daddy’s family had no such thing, and his mad father saw that his sons never got to embrace a Holy Day, this demented soul who endeavored to ease his pain with alcohol was unmerciful to his boys, and Dad carried the warped anger deeply within, so to deny himself was to deny it for all of us until he awakened in the last 40 years of his life to hope, for there was just enough.

  “Enough of what you ask?”  He and Mama could get food on the table, even if it was dated for the school’s to throw out.  Her yeast roll days gave us fine warm years rolls for dinner which the old high school had the women make by hand, and the garden — always the garden produced food for spring and for summer.  Eggs from our hens, and finally we could purchase bought milk and even concentrated fruit juice, so spring began to give the gifts of nature, and my Mama would start worrying about the, “Old Cold Winter,” far to early, just when the garden was in; But at Easter, we had a little bit of a surprise.  She would have hidden three or four marshmallow eggs in our shoes, something her Mama once did — Sweet candy with pretty colors, and we could have her chocolate syrup on our biscuits, and most times the dogwoods and redwoods would be in bloom.  Once or twice the girls made some egg dye, and I always knew where the hard boiled eggs were.  They were in the volunteer daffodils which bloomed year after year at our old house, and we would get to hide them and hunt them more than once, and no matter what anyway will ever say, the eggs of Easter tasted different as we touched theom to salt and ate everyone. then next, the eldest daughter home got to drive us down to Lexie Church where a few might have a new dress or Mr. Ode might have scraped his boots better after barn duty, but everyone just seemed to be a little happier.

  I doubt if Mama took even one piece of candy for herself, for even as she grew older, she always took the last of everything, so leaving the breast and drum sticks for us, she would eat off the other bony pieces,  and she would have usually beheaded the chickens she could spare the night before, a brutal murder of a bird, for she chose to wring their heads off, and then it appeared as if the heads were looking back at their bodies bounce over the grass, for it was cold blooded murder.  She always boiled water in the old wash pots, soaked them, and then we plucked all the feathers off.  Next the birds would soak in salt over night, for our Mother wanted no blood on our meat, so I, to this day, will soak the packaged chicken breast in brine if that fits in to the Easter meal, but my children wanted the, “Honey Ham,” so popular in our Midwest cook books, but on the southern family table — You are probably going to have more meats to choose from than at Mardi Gras, so again, Our mother and father were so happy they could afford the fine store bought foods

  Yes, I know that we are a country of obese people, and we are passing on diabetes to our kids faster than we can learn to say, “No,” at the candy counter.  We commit cardinal sins with sugar candy brimming over in every basket of chocolate and toys, for according to our learned health officials there is no form of sugar, not honey, nor agave syrup, and God forsaken corn syrup is worse than if we chose these over our vegetables.  I just cannot help but laugh, though I wish that I did not have a love for seet things — But mentioning that sugar in all forms need regulation is finally the ship of fools this woman is going to jump off of.  There is far too much obesity, and I need to crack down on my urge for these sinful treats, but the serotonin built up after a little child sees their Easter candy and have little mouths that look like squirrels is apt to be healing a long time before the sugar gets them.  Just a little sugar candy in our shoes surprised us, for Mama usually did not have the quarter for a bag of candy. 

  So, Earthlings, give the kids a break and even your own weary souls, and if you cannot afford a basket, just stick a little candy in a shoe.  Tell the little children how spring renews us, brings the birds home again, and opens up a season when things might just seem a little brighter, or at least it felt that way to us.  Mama and Daddy even kept a cookie jar, not just for the grand kids — But for them as well, and they lived to see 85.  They have been gone for a while now, but if we all look from the darkest places of our lives and find a memory of joy, then place it in the scrap book lying on your heart, and if we ever wind up with sugar police and sugar busters, then show them a basket of dandelions, bitter weeds, and wild onion tops, and placd your week old cheese to the side, and tell them you will see them in church after they empty the basket of all the good stuff you gathered, for somehow we have made it from Biblical times until now with a sweet tooth, so God sent the manna like honey and the Israelites blessed the day, for they were starving.  Children hunger, you and I are starving from the lost ages when a little went so far to making those who had little feel a part of a day we pray will lead us gently in to the heavenly bounty, apt to be southern fried chicken, and chocolate syrup on biscuits, the gifts of a mother who was so afflicted with depression that she could hardly get up at times; Our mother gave us her spiritual gifts, what she loved and remembered.

  That day always gave us the strength to know that we could dream like other children, and sweet candy were really little pastels of love.

  Blessings My Friends.

  Blessed Peace On The Way To The Cross, or wherever this weekend takes you.

  Barbara Everett Heintz, “Pinkhoneysuckle,” Amazon, Kindle Ready — A book which will challenge your faith if you desire to read of The Southern Dyaspora and a woman from child to adult hood always seeking some peace in the brutal Appalachian Mountains and Valley — Awards San Francisco and Hollywood, California

  • 4:19 am
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