May flowers bring tears in many ways

As the May flowers just begin to slightly open their buds and release the powerful fragrance in the air, my eyes begin to tear...both from the allergens produced by the beautiful creations but also from the memories of my mother's own tears.


It seems like our backyard on Sandhurtst Drive in Dayton, Ohio always seemed to be the scene of some kind of escapade the caused my sainted mom to just shake her head and try to smile as her Little Skeeter boy caused  yet another reason for the moist twinkles in her blue eyes. The backyard was where we dug up our dead dog, where we ran around all nekked around the tent after losing playing strip poker and where I cut off all of the branches of my mom's favorite red bud tree. It was also the site  of mom's peony bushes that separated our yard from our neighbor behind us.


Having recently acquired slingshots from Northtown Sporting Goods "The Jer" and I were looking for some more ammunition since we had spent most of the rocks and pebbles we could find in the street. We shot at everything including each other. The rocks always hurt so as we looked to find a less lethal projectile, ...we spotted mom's peony bushes.


I never thought much of flowers or bushes back in those days and heck, how could anything called pee-o-knee mean anything special. We even laughed at the silly name, never really giving any thought to how beautiful the flowers would be until decades and decades later.


So we descended on the peonies like locusts on fresh crops and began to stuff our pockets pulling each bud off the stem with the perfectly formed spheres. The buds that were slightly opened made for the best "bullets" because as they hit their targets they would explode with juices, tiny flowerettes and an aroma.


I guess mom came outside either because she heard the excitement or laughter and felt like perhaps we were up to something once again.


She saw the remains of all of the buds from her more than ten peony bushes scattered around the yard and the helpless naked stems each standing bare on the bush.
A few tears began to flow, she shook her head slightly back and forth, she reached out to me and said, "Tommy, one day you will remember what you did here. It will make you sad, but at least it will help you remember me".


She was right. I'm sad for destroying mom's favorite flowers and that brings me tears but I am happy that she loved me and understood me.  And that brings tears as well as I do remember my mom and her love and patience with her little Tommy boy.

Our Grandmothers are also Special on Mother's Day

Grandmas, G-Maws, Nanas, or Grandmothers... whatever you call them...they are special. And on Mother’s Day, it too is their special day.

Although I never had a chance to know either of my grandfathers, I did get to spend a little time with both my grandmothers before they left this earth. 

One grandmother, my Dad’s mother, I’ve written about before in a previous blog.. http://ireadthenews.blogspot.com/2011/11/over-river-and-thru-woods-to-grandmas.html .

 We didn’t talk much since she didn’t speak a word of English. She owned a bar over on the West Side of Dayton, Ohio and every weekend Dad and I would drive over to the bar and I would watch while sitting on my perch on a bar stool drinking my “Roy Rodgers” as Dad slipped her a wad of cash to help her along the way. 

She later came to live with us, which was the normal thing to do back in those days. Heck, I don’t even think nursing homes had even been invented yet. Parents came and lived with their sons and daughters until they failed to wake up the next morning.

My Mom’s, mom, we all called Nana. She was a little feisty, and lived with my Aunt Bab’m, a nickname for my Mom’s sister. They lived together in a small, white frame house only a few houses away from my childhood friend, “The Jer”, who I have also written about many times. Aunt Bab’m and “The Jer” got along well enough but Bab’m always would say to “The Jer”, “ I’ve got your number, buddy”, and “The Jer” would just kind of shy away. Bab’m would smile and give him a hug. 

Me and Nana fishing at Grand Lake in Celina, Ohio

Nana didn’t do much except sit and knit, at least when I knew her. She grew up in what I always thought was a mansion at the corner of Ridge  Ave and Main Street next to Winters Bank that served as both their residence and a funeral home, at least I think that is the story. 

My Dad moonlighted as a undertaker there in order to get a chance to spend more time with mom, his future bride. One of the stories that is now fractured by the test of time is that Nana had some relatives named Okla and Homa, named after the great state where I would later attend college. Also, there was a story that Mom was named after a small town north of Lubbock, Tx. called Idalou where some other relative drove cattle....who knows, but I like to tell it . 

About the only memory of Nana away from the house was the occasional trips to Grand Lake north of Dayton. Nana taught me to cast my fishing rod and untangle the bird’s nest I often ended up with my casting reel.  She also was the one who encouraged Dad to let me have a casting rod and reel and not a kid’s ole’ bamboo pole. She also taught me to bait my hooks and how to hold a catfish without getting gorged  by a horn.

It’s funny how now after more than 60 some years I remember those times. It makes me appreciate Mother’s Day a heck of a lot more and makes me smile as I remember growing up.