Good morning CAMPBELLSWORLD VISITORS!!!
Campbell and I are hoping this beautiful spring day has you feeling happy healthy, and well. We would like to, once again, thank you for reading, and for sharing on your blogs, or social media outlets, if you do.
This morning I have an offering from Mrs. Tasha Halpert. It is a bit late, given that it’s a Mother’s Day offering, but I think Mothers everywhere should be honored each and every day.
Now, Tasha has made a request of us. She has asked we share a memory or gift from days with our mothers. So, I’ll start. I hope you, CAMPBELLSWORLD VISITORS, will respond in kind.
The most precious gift, I received from my mother, is also a memory.
My mother used to read to me. When I was a wee girl, she read stories like, Winnie-the-Poo In the Hundred Aker Woods. As I grew, she read such wonderful books, as, The Boxcar Children Series, Nancy Drew, and The Little House Series.
When I became a teenager, she would let me pick out Teen magazines, and we’d sit up late on Fridays, and she’d read all the articles, about the latest bands, and those music stars I had posters of, plastered all over the walls of my room.
Even though I knew they were not truly to her liking, it always gave me a great feeling when she took the time to read of them, because of that very fact. I felt that she was really going the extra mile, and she not one time said to me, “You should not read about, and listen to such trash.” As so many of my friends’ moms said to them.
In fact, once I remember after one such late night session of popcorn, and reading, her saying, “Well, I guess Joe Elliot isn’t quite so bad after all.” I had a major crush, and she, not, one time, ever discouraged it.
This, in turn, taught me not to be quick to judge, to wait until I knew more about the person place or thing, I thought strange, or unworthy, and indeed, made a difference in the ways in which I related to, and interacted with others. Those reading sessions, also gave me something else. They, gave to me a deep love for reading, and helped to encourage my writing.
Mom always understood my love for storytelling, and the fondest memory I have of any Christmas, comes from when I was in the sixth-grade.
Just before Christmas, a large, heavy box, appeared underneath the tree. I held it in my lap, I turned it over and over, being careful not to jar, whatever wondrous gift might be within, and wondering what on the Earth it could be.
When Christmas finally came, and I was finally able to rip away all that paper, to my great delight there was an electric typewriter inside.
I remember shouting quite loudly with glee, and casting everything else aside.
For the rest of that day, there was nothing else in my world but that most magical machine.
I remember, late on Christmas night, when everything else of our Christmas Celebration was over, sitting down at our kitchen table, and setting up my prized possession.
I got it all put into place, mom and I read carefully through the instructions, with her, stopping from time to time, to show me some specific feature, and when we were all done, she said, “OK, write me a story.”
I sat for a few moments, with my fingers poised above the keys, thinking of all my typing teacher had taught us during the previous semester, and, suddenly, the story came, and I began to type.
Soon, I’d pounded out my first short-story of fictional silliness, and I can remember the title, to this day. “The Giant Chocolate Coconut Ball that Ate Kingsport.”
We always had Mounds Balls, at Christmas, and I’d said earlier in the day, while eating a particularly large one, “WOW! This is a giant one!”
I don’t remember all the details of the story, but I’d be willing to bet, that if there is still a box of, saved things from my childhood stashed somewhere in my dad’s home, that story is among them.
As I’ve been going through this time of sickness, I’ve realized Mom gave me lots of other gifts as well, but this, for me, will always be my very favorite.
Now, my tale is done, and I give you, Tasha, and her Mother’s Day offering…
Heartwings love Notes 776: A Thank You to my Mom
Heartwings says, “We need to acknowledge with thanks the gifts we receive from our mothers.”
This week I received a loving card in the mail from one of my three dear daughters. In it she expressed her thanks to me for what I had given her as well as for what I continue to give her. She lives at quite a distance from me so we do not see one another often. We do however do our best to keep in touch with mail and emails. It was a precious card and it was even more precious to read her acknowledgement of the little things I do for her as we continue to communicate and to share our lives together.
Although I cannot write her a letter or call her on the phone, I began thinking about what I might be grateful to my late mother for. There is a long list beginning with how she always insisted on my wearing a hat on the beach and cover up as well to protect my skin from the sun. Today, with the prevalence of skin cancer among my contemporaries and even those younger than I, I am especially grateful for her good advice. It is thought that the early exposure to excess sun is a precursor to skin cancer. She had a permanent tan on her back from her teenage years of sun exposure in Cuba where her German father was in the diplomatic service; later she had numerous bouts with skin cancer.
Though I haven’t thought much about this until recently, I realize that she was an immigrant, and what that meant especially in her early years in the country. It was the outset of what became WWII that she married my father and came to this country from Germany. As a child, I remember seeing a movie taken of part of their honeymoon showing Nazis marching. She had to endure suspicions and even dislike for her nationality, even from her in-laws. Fortunately, she spoke perfect English and quickly became a citizen. She was herself very courageous, and she encouraged me to stand up for myself when I was picked on in school for not being athletic or slender. In addition, she always supported me when I shared my grief at not being able to fit in.
She encouraged my creativity, keeping the little booklets I made for her even until I was much older and then giving them back to me. She applauded my early efforts to play the guitar and urged me to write my own songs. She pushed originality as a virtue, praising it above all in everything I did. I think of her often and wish her well as she makes her way through whatever is next for us all in the afterlife. I am sure her bright spirit is still learning and growing and perhaps she is in some way practicing the art she did so beautifully in this life to enhance the walls of the angels’ heavenly homes.
May you have happy memories of the gifts you receive from your mom.
Blessings and Best Regards, Tasha Halpert
PS Dear Readers, please share with me the gifts you may have received and the memories you have of your mothers. It is always a joy to hear from you and I will be so happy to respond as soon as I am able.