No one had to ask.
Seldom remembered to say "thank you"
Four girls, different and moody as can be.
The youngest son, King Luke, we'd call him.
Well who could help but spoil that boy?
The husband who provided by working so hard, so she knew that burden would never be hers.
The hot glowing wood stove on bitter January mornings for us to dress in front of.
Gallons of hot cocoa, mountains of peanut butter toast.
Sunday meals, greasy with all the fixins' set out on the good plates.
I don't recall her resting much.
She had her sacred down times.
Don Fransico praise music as she washed dishes in hot soapy water.
The Waltons every Thursday night, that we were not permitted to watch along with her, though years later the repeats were on PBS after school.
Books and her Bible in front of the fire.
Today when I visit, my own hands dish-pan dry, thinking of my own tasks that never seem done, she always, always, swoops in:
Offers the drink, the baked good, tells me to "sit and eat".
It feels so good to let her take care of me the way she always does.
If I make mention of a headache or pain: that green bottle of excedrin produces in under a minute with a fresh glass of water.
She is at her happiest serving others.
It's something I hope one day I can somehow accomplish, though Lord knows I still am angling for the me factor more often than not.
Linking up again with Lisa over at the gypsy mama with today's writing prompt.
I have to be honest and say when I saw today's different type of prompt, I was just a tiny disappointed. I have such a poor memory for recalling details, especially from childhood. Not because it was bad, just ordinary, that and I truly do have a memory that stinks: Ginkgo supplements and all.
But, like so many other times I pecked out that prompt on my title and The Spirit just whispers one word, and my fingers take over translating a river of thoughts and images to this screen.