Saturday 11 May 2019

I am from . . .


This is Lambie.  This is the toy that slept in bed with me every night of my childhood.  Well loved up, a tiny bit ragged, this was one of my favourite toys.  I also had a lovely teddy bear, real mohair.  I had taken it with me when I left home because I also used to sleep with that.  Someone stole it on one of our moves, so I am glad that I didn't take lambie with me or else he might have also been lost. My mom kept Lambie safe for me all of my life.  I was thrilled when my sister found him the other day.  I knew he was at mom's because I had seen him there and loved him up every time I visited, but I wasn't sure what had happened to him in the past six years. 

Its funny how attached we become to the things of our childhood.  Because I was in a Military family and we moved several times, each move requiring a cull, I don't have a lot that remains of my childhood.  I can't even go and visit my childhood homes because most of them have been closed or pulled down for the sake of progress  . . .  but I have Lambie.  



When I was a child I longed to live in a small town . . .  a place like Mayfield or Mayberry . . .  a Leave it to Beaver or Andy Griffith kind of existance.  I longed for roots that went deep into the earth in a place they had always dug in, in a place where generation after generation of my family had dug in.  The closest we came to that was when my father finally got posted to Nova Scotia, which is where I lived from the age of 11 until I left to go out to Winnipeg at the age of 21.  The closest thing to roots that I had.  Where I actually had Cousins and Aunts and a history. 



Thinking back this morning however, I have come to realise that roots don't come from places or things  . . .  they come from relationships.  From love ties to those that have been there with you since the beginning . . . ties that can never really be broken . . . 

Roots come from stories handed down through the generations and from looking at faded old photographs of those who came before and remembering those stories.


Great Great Uncle Darius and Aunt Janet


 I am from an old hand carved wooden box of the Oregon Trail sitting on a faded and threadbare picture carpet my father brought from Sicily atop our television . . .  from a big box of Tide soap smelling clean and fresh, and cartons of Orange and Apricot flavoured Beep, and glass milk bottles left on the porch.

I am from war time military housing, each one a cookie cutter stamp of the next, but what we called home . . . each one made our own by all the bits and bobs we carried around with us from place to place . . . like a turtle carries his home on his back.

 Aunt Freda, holding me, my mom and my Great Grandmother  
on the porch of my grandmother's house just prior
to our moving to Germany.

I am from pine scented forests and clear woodland streams, rolling orchards and misty harbours full of fishing boats . . .  anchored and resting . . .  and rocky mountain meadows full of wild flowers and babbling brooks . . . meandering rivers and rushing torrents . . . fireflies and sheets of light which ripple  through starlit Northern skies at night.

I am from a grandmother's Molasses cookies, warm from the oven, and from always being right, from Nina and Elmer and Henrietta Elizabeth, and all the staid and ordinary folk that came before me. I am from the salt of the earth and hard working hands, hearts that cared and eyes that cried tears made of salt and soul . . .  from bowels filled with the milk of human kindness. 

Ida Maria McNayr, my Great Great Grandmother

 I am from pioneer men and strong women who weren‘t afraid to leave all that was familiar and theirs behind . . . crossing oceans to venture into new lands, making new starts built on hopes and dreams of golden futures and new beginnings.

I am from a God who loves even me, with all of my shortcomings and weaknesses. He uses them to make me strong and carries me when I can no longer carry myself and sets my feet upon higher ground, lifting me up to places I never dreamed of going or knew I wanted to go. 


Ida McNayr Smith and two of her daughters


I am from the wilds of Glasgow and the loins of Boyd McNayr, from Phillippe and Anne and the cobbled streets of French Aristocrats . . .  from baking powder biscuits, Saturday night baked beans and butter tarts . . .  and Hockey Night in Canada.

 I am from the hearts that were broken and spirits that were mended and stiched back together with the love of family . . .  from am ancient Uncle who fed me humbugs on an old lady’s porch whilst telling me stories of wars in far off lands and shattered dreams put back together . . .  from the patchwork that is a family hewn from scraps and stories and roots that run deep in the soil of small mountain villages looking down on clean valleys.  



  
My Grandfather Woodworth with his four 
sisters and his baby brother



I am from the  boxes of photos that lay in my mother’s home, black and white images of stoic faces and  honest people . . .  with work worn hands, big hearts, twinkling eyes, and stories whispered and legends told,ancient memories of humble folk and sturdy stock. I am their future, their hope, their dreams . . . they live on in me and those who will come after me . . .

That is a family . . .  my family . . . and these are my roots.  


This is a photograph of my mother on the right and her older sister Thelma on the left. The clothes are not dirty , they would have been spotless.  My mother had the photo taped into an album with green tape (which she always regretted) and that is tape residue.  Tomorrow will be my first Mother's Day in my life that I won't be able to speak to my mother for real . . . I remember as a child going to church on Mother's Day and everyone wore a flower on their lapel.  A red one if your mother was alive and a white one if she had passed . . . 

It's Mother's day, and everyone
I meet have flowers fair,
Pinned on their coats to show the love
for Mothers, everywhere.
For some are red as summer dawn,
And some are white as snow,
And here along the sunny street,
They make a gallant show.

I bought a posy at the shop,
As sweet as it could be,
I paid the man a silver coin,
Through tears that blinded me.
Along the golden streets up there,
I wonder if she knows,
That on my new spring coat today,
I wear a white, white rose  . . . 
~Edna Jacques 


The lilacs will soon be blooming outside my mom's living room front window.  There was a lovely big bush of them right next to the deck.  She loved to sit in her chair next to the window and look at them. Sometimes my sister would bring in a bundle of them to sit in a vase so mom could smell them up close.  We are all missing mom so very much, not just on Mother's Day, but every day.  My father and I were blubbering about her on the telephone yesterday.  We agreed that we were happy that she was whole and no longer in pain, but we also agreed that we miss her so very much and always will.  There is nobody on earth that can take your mother's place.  I love you mom.  I hope that wherever you are you have lilacs to smell and birds to watch and that your laughter trickles across the land and that your blue eyes are twinkling, as you dance once more on toes filled with light. I miss you every minute of every day  . . . always  . . . 

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~\。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ | 田田 |門 ★

 *
Hello sun in my face,
Hello you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields . . .
Watch now how I start the day,
 in happiness, in kindness.
~Mary Oliver  •。★★ 。* 。 



Big Bran Breakfast Cookies 

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Big Bran Breakfast Cookies.  Seriously tasty, and filled with goodness.

Have a wonderful Saturday.  The sun has decided to shine here after two days of solid rain.  No matter what you get up to, don't forget! 

 
═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ═══════════ ⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿
═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ═══════════
 

And I do too! 
 





10 comments:

  1. ♥♥
    You have always had a lovely smile.
    Oh what a gift to have Lambie back.
    Beautifully written.
    You are a daughter..a mother..a grandmother..and an author:)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Monique. Its funny the things which take up spaces in our hearts, or maybe not so funny. We are all a composite of what has been, filled with the hopes and promise of what is to be! Happy Mother's day! xoxo

      Delete
  2. Sending many hugs this mom's day, Marie...it was SO hard when I could no longer purchase or make cards for my lovely mom and grandma!! Still hard, these many years later. Will it be as hard for my kids? I doubt it really...some of them don't bother sending me a card...usually they call...but I have learned life is easier when you do not expect anything. I know mom's day is just a creation of someone...but in my years growing up, it had traditions...like the wearing of a red or white rose or carnation like yours. We always celebrated in some small ways...had a great meal etc after church. I hope you find some way to get through yours this year. I am packing...movers come Wednesday. Hubby's health demands a better suited place...so we are going to a 55+ place with walkin shower. Not how we planned this year...but tis how it is. I am glad to be moving for other reasons too like hopefully we will be living in a much quieter place!! Blessings on you and hope mom's day turns out to be special, xoxo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I am really feeling it Elizabeth. Good luck on your move! I hope it all goes well and is everything you hope it to be! Love and hugs to you. xoxo

      Delete
  3. Hi Marie~

    Oh my goodness, you write so beautifully! What a touching post, and wonderful tribute to your beautiful mom...just beautiful.

    You are loved, Marie, in so many ways, by so many people, me included! Thank you for being such a good example to me, for always inspiring me and lifting me up. You are a wonderful mother and wife, and I pray that your Mother's Day will just be filled with love!!

    So glad that you got your sweet lamb back, what a treasure! All the photos you shared were so beautiful as well and I could see a bit of you in each one dear friend.

    Happy Mother's Day!!! XOXOXOX

    Hugs and Much Love,
    Barb

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much Barb, I know this is a particularly poignant Mother's Day for you also having lost your own mother just recently and your Cole Dog. Sending you extra love and hugs and prayers as well, and Happy Mother's Day wishes! xoxo

      Delete
  4. Oh my sweet friend, this was such a poignant-endearing post. I loved every word of it. I related to alot of it too. Especially, the moving and the setting down of roots. I love that you still have the Lambie; what a sweet photo of it.
    You have an amazing talent with words to describe your thoughts, and emotions. Thanks for sharing this talent with us all. I learn a lot from you. That first Mother's day after losing your Mom is a tough one. I will forever miss my Mom too. I would give love to call her up and hear her precious voice.
    I'm so happy that you can talk with your Dad and Sister during this terribly hard grieving time.
    Wishing for you a lovely Mother's Day! May you feel an extra portion of love from your Heavenly parents and from other side of the veil.
    Sending happy thoughts, prayers and hugs your way!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Are we not just so grateful to have the Promise of Eternal families and knowledge of the Gospel LeAnn? What a comfort it is. Love and hugs and Happy Mother's Day wishes for you also. xoxo

      Delete

Your comments mean the world to me, and while I may not be able to address each one individually, each one is important to me and each one counts. Thanks so much!