Mondays with Mom

My relationship with my mom has been off and on for years.  Cutting apron strings was harder for her than me. As the mother of four children and the wife of a military man, she spent a lot of her time being both mother and father to us.

As a little girl growing up and one of three sisters, my mom spent much of her time making clothes  for all of us. She was an incredible seamstress. I don't remember ever having a store bought dress or even knowing how to buy one even after I left home. I remember trying to buy clothes while in college and I didn't even know what size I wore.

She spent many hours either laboring over our clothes or the canning she did every summer.  We'd spend hours under the old tree in the back yard with an enamel pan in our laps shelling peas. My fingers stayed purple all summer long.
She would can up more vegetables than we could possibly eat. Her green beans and potatoes were probably my favorite. Even today, I cherish a jar of her stewed tomatoes. And Ben would make himself sick on her canned applesauce.

As I got older and she got more demanding, I found myself pulling away. Her inability to cut the strings and let me live my life was rather difficult for her. Her constant calls and inquiry into my personal affairs led me to slowly and cautiously cut her off.

Now she's 80 and has been diagnosed with Alzheimer.  What came with that disease was actually a blessing in disguise. My mother had never really discussed her upbringing. We knew that she had been raised by her Aunt and Uncle. And we knew that her mother had been head injured and placed in a special home. That's pretty much all we knew. But evidently life had to have been difficult for her. She learned from her last remaining brother now living in Kentucky that she had been handed over to relatives along with her other nine siblings by her father. And as the youngest of the 10 children, she was the one that no one wanted, so she learned.

Over the years, with the divorce from my father and a second failed marriage,my mother's interest in her children's lives grew along with her discontent. Her obvious anger and disappointment spilled over into our lives. She became very controlling and very demanding. And with every demand, I withdrew even more.

Following a  mini stroke last summer, she began to lose her memory. While that would concern most, it turned out to be a blessing for her. She has forgotten a lot of the disappointments in her life ...and ours.  And she seems happier now than I've ever seen her. She's less interested in controlling our lives now and more interested in just sharing time and making new memories.

I started spending Monday mornings with my mother. Starting with her favorite meal of Kentucky Fried Chicken, I realized how important it was for me to spend this time with her.  On my second visit, she taught me how to make her fried chicken.  We've spent the day talking about the good times. I see her face changing. I see the softness come back in her face and I see how vulnerable she is right now. Her sweet loving nature is coming back as her memory fades.

I am renewing my relationship with my mother. My love for her has been redefined. We're making new connections, new memories and I'm learning how to make fried chicken and homemade biscuits.

Mondays with Mom is just what the doctor ordered...for both of us!

Remembering Arley James

Autumn brings back memories for me that I am eager to always share with my young art students. Recently I shared the story about Arley James to one of my elementary classes. While using storytelling as another art form, I carefully provide details so as to  'paint' a picture in their minds.  Through my words, I hope they can see and feel  the true beauty of this sweet little old woman who enriched my life.

I have always found it pleasing that these little ones always seem eager to hear one of my stories.    They often beg for them. Telling the story about Arley James is probably one of my favorites. It is easy to describe her with her long handmade skirt and worn apron; her hair up in braids and carefully tucked under her handmade bonnet. I describe her modest house with only four rooms. And I detail the little living room we sat in together. With  only a couple of cow-hide bottom chairs, a rocking chair and a pot-belly stove in the middle of the room.  It's hard for them to imagine that that was all she had.  I usually have to stop here to explain what a cow-hide bottom chair is and a pot belly stove.

My story continues as I explain that she had never had her picture taken in her entire life until that day in November when Mr. Rick happened to drive by and catch a glimpse of her chopping wood. It's when I explain the sweetness and kindness she relayed to Rick and me that I see their eyes sparkle and a smile emerge on their little faces.

I guess the part that touches them most is when it's obvious to them that she touched my heart and that I loved her and was proud to call her my friend.  And that I didn't let the color of her skin or the poor conditions she lived in keep me from stepping over that threshold into her life.

The little old house that Arley lived in is gone now. The trees have grown up and in the spring you can barely see a few dots of yellow as the little daffodils try to mark the spot where her garden once was.  When we drive by her old home place, I can't help but look over and imagine her standing on the front porch with her little bonnet on, drying her hands on her apron, smiling, and giving us a big wave.

I love you, Ms. Arley!

A Tribute to Real Teachers.

I was in the fourth grade when I would discover the heart of a true teacher.

All my young life would be spent traveling from state to state and continent to continent while my father served his country as a military man.

I was a poor student. Withdrawn and shy but not shy enough to stop me from creating a disturbance in my class. I was acting up and playing the clown when my teacher Ms. Beard finally had enough. She had scolded me for the last time.

What she did next would change my world.

Instead of sending me to the office or sending home another scathing note about how poorly I had behaved that week, she tried something different.

She pulled an empty school desk next to hers and reached in her drawer and pulled out a new box of crayons. She opened our history book to a section we had not yet studied.  She summoned me to the back of the room to sit next to her.

She sat me down and gave me a job. She told me to draw one of the illustrations in the book. She told me to do it as good as I could and handed me the new box of crayons. She also told me she didn't want to hear another peep out of me.

That's not a punishment, I thought. A new box of crayons was like Christmas to me. I spent the day drawing and coloring my rendition of the artwork in our history book.  At the end of the day, she didn't say a word. And during the day, surprisingly, neither did I.  She picked up the drawing I had been working on. Walked to the front of the room and tacked it up on the wall above the blackboard. You know, that area where we all remember seeing the alphabet.

The next day I came to school and once again was asked to sit next to her and draw the next illustration in our history book.  That so-called punishment went on for a week until I had completed an entire series.  At the end of each day, she would do the same thing. She would pick it up and tack it above the blackboard along with the previous day's work.

On Monday, we all came to school and I was so excited to get back to school. This whole week of 'creative play' excited me like nothing else had. I took my seat at the desk near hers and couldn't wait for my next assignment.

It didn't happen.

Instead, she moved to the front of the room and while standing under the colorful collection of images that chronicled 'the way the west was won,' Ms. Beard began to share this history lesson with her students while using my artwork to tell the story. And at the end of the session, she gave me credit for having drawn this incredible rendition of American history.

She discovered my talent and I discovered myself.