Lord ya'll...it's Mother's Day eve already and I just now started cooking for tomorrow's family gathering up here on the hill. Purple hull peas went into the crock post first and the rest of the sides are in progress. Deb and Ronnie are bringing the desserts and bread all the way from Kentucky and pickin' up Aunt Granny. I got the yard done and a few rays in the process so now it's time to create culinary delight in the kitchen.
Mama is one of those that everybody can't help but love. Smart and funny....generous with her time and talents which are many, by the way. Back in the day she worked for a newspaper doing society and home. Her recipe column was a highlight to many a reader of the weekly edition of The Dyersburg Mirror. Man..those were the days! After the paper shut down, she went to work for the umemployment office which was not a lot of fun, but helped to pay her share of the bills on the raising up of us three kids. Poor thang slept for six months after she walked out and said to heck with it, bless her heart. I think about that every time I enjoy the luxury of a long nap.
I was a good girl, or tried very hard to be. Growing up southern in the fifties and sixties was a real lesson in tolerance and patience. Every which way you turned there was some sort of drama going on, be it war protests or civil rights marches. I was color blind back then because I grew up in a racially mixed community where everybody respected everybody else and their mamas. Come Mother's Day, we donned a red or white rose and sat up in the pew next to her at church showing our respect for all she did in the traditional way.
As the oldest grandchild, I inherited many of the treasures that my Gaga left behind when she died. There is the dining room table and chairs with a china cabinet plus many little pieces that were all her and our family history. These will be dragged out and spit shined for Mother's Day because that's what good southern girls do in May. They cut peonies and iris and arrange them artfully in a special vase to sit on the sideboard as a tribute to motherhood and the sanctity thereof. There won't be any pickled peaches but there will be plenty of deviled eggs and sweet tea.
Wherever you may be or whatever you're doing, for the love of all that is good and right....call your mother. She loves you like nobody else ever did.