A Homespun Memory

     Years ago, I wrote a poem that my mama liked very much.  'Course, bein' the recipient of pure love an' parent-pride, I never questioned whether she liked it for the poem or because I was her offspring.  To me, the fact that she liked this particular poem touched a special chord in my heart.  When mama passed away, I wanted to do somethin' to honor her.  Finally, when it was time to buy a headstone, I felt that the best way I could honor her was to give somethin' of myself that she loved.  The Poem.

     Years later, I tentatively entered my poem in a contest that was open to all countries, certain that I would finally learn that Mama's appreciation was founded in her love for her child.  To my great surprise, I won Honorable Mention.  I dunno' if anything has ever surprised or pleased me more than that award because I finally felt that I truly had given my mama somethin' worthwhile.  Naturally, she an' I shared a special moment that day.  Whilst I visited her grave, I cried tears of loneliness that she was gone an' tears of joy that I had given a part of myself that she loved.

     In case you have difficulty reading the words on the headstone, here is a copy of the poem:

Homespun

Homespun; fireplace; the smell of pitchy pine chips;

Burning; smouldering; dying.

The milk cow; milk; cream; butter;

Salted; churning, slowly churning.

Voices; Mama; Daddy; neighbors;

Children laughing, running, playing games.

Fields; plowed; planted; watered;

Yielding food for folks and critters,

To start again; Homespun.

                        By: Just Joany 1979



     Thank you for sharing this memory with me.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya

Broken Memories

     When I was a kid, I was surrounded by talent.  In many of the places where we lived, my dad was the director in the local Little Theater Group.  My mama an' all my brothers filled parts in the many different plays that each group put on.  I used to wish I could play a part in one of those plays, but I never got to.  I've often thought about that an' wondered how it was that I never got to be in any of the plays.  Interestingly, I can't recall a single play that had a part for a little girl.  I think that just may have been the reason I was never in one of those plays.

     Nana, my dad's mother an' Grampa', his step-dad, were also very talented.  They had both been in Vaudeville.  Grampa' started as a very small child, skating an' dancing.  He could do the sideways splits on the backs of chairs, on roller skates, when he was only five years old.  At one point, Grampa' was apparently one of the best dancers in the world, although I did not find this out until very recently and many years after he departed this life.  If you've ever heard of my grampa', Billy Rolls, I'd sure like to hear from you.

     Nana was an aerial artiste`, hanging by her teeth from many feet above the ground and spinning.  I dunno' if you've ever seen this done, but its quite impressive.  I wish both of them had shared some of their stories with me before they passed away.  I've been trying to find out whatever I can to add to my Family History an' genealogy records.  Recently, I had a break-through when I received some pictures of my grampa'.  There he was, big as life; doing the sideways splits on the backs of two chairs.  The picture showed him as an adult an' he was wearing Tap-Dancing Shoes, rather than roller-skates, but it was almost as though he was reaching through the veil an' sharing his moment of glory.

     All of the people in the generation before me have passed away.  That leaves me an' my brothers as the next in line.  I never thought I would be the next generation.  Now, I'm trying to make sure that my children an' my grandies have records of things their ancestors did.  It's not easy, when there's no one to ask about the details.

     Are you writing about your experiences?  I keep a shoe box with notes an' tid-bits of information.  As I go through my day, I often think of things that happened to me or someone I love and I write a quick note; maybe two or three sentences an' pop it in the shoe box.  If I din't have those notes, I don't think my posts would have half the recollections that I've shared.  I do hope you will consider keeping notes about your life.  Just think what a treasure that would be to someone who cares about you.

     Maybe you have a family member such as one of my grandies, who has a unique method for climbing the stairs;  doing somersaults all the way UP the stairs.  How sad it would be if I were to forget such an endearing act.  Is there something that one of your family members does that you'd like to remember?  Today is the day to make a note.  Then someday, when you have a few extra minutes, write a little more detail about your memory.  Someday, whether you realize it or not, someone will thank you, even if all you have is a shoe box full of scribbled memories.  At least, it will be something.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya

Traveling Through Life On His Head

     I like kids. Do you like kids? Don't you just love the way they can go into a group of other children and, just as natural as you please, start talking? Gone are the inhibitions that they'll develop later on. Oh, yeah. You know the ones; too shy to speak, worry that someone might think this or that, does my shirt have milk on it?

     I wonder why it is that we learn those fears as we grow older? I've pondered this subject quite a bit, actually and I think it just may have something to do with the years of trying to find our places in life. It seems that at about fifth grade, things begin to change. At least, that's about when they started changing for me.

     Maybe everyone has a nemesis in their lives, just like that girl I told you about yesterday?  I hope not, but there must be some reason why so many of us begin to shrink inside ourselves.
 
     I have one grandie who is a true and natural comic.  You never know what he's gonna' come up with.  The other day, he sort of tumbled down the stairs and when he reached the bottom, he just bounced up and grinned sheepishly, saying, "I wasn't watching where I was going!"
 
     Another time, while playing air-shooting with Mama and big brother, he suddenly announced that he had been shot in the bum.  One of his most interesting habits, in my opinion, is spending most of his time on his head.  Yep!  He watches TV on his head, visits with others while on his head and does way more things on his head than a lot of people can do in an upright position.
 
     He also has a funny little habit of going up the stairs doing somersaults.  You heard me right.  He goes UP the stairs that way.  I used to hang upside-down a lot when I was growing up.  Maybe I affected him, even before he was a thought in Mama or Daddy's minds?  At any rate, he makes it look like so much fun that I even wanna' play.  I hate to tell you what the results of THAT would be.  *sigh*
 
     Oh, to be a child, again.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.
 
 ~ Yaya

When Stubborn Butts Heads With Stubborn

     Little girls can be incredibly stubborn.  I know this from first-hand experience.  My mama used to tell me of an incident when I was about three years old.  Apparently, I had done or not done something that called for me being in a form of Time Out and Mama set me on the couch.  I promptly took myself out of that situation and crawled down.  She set me back on the couch and, again, I got down.

     Evidently, I did not feel that I should have to stay on that couch, as I spent the next hour, trying my dear mama's patience.  Remarkably, she returned the favor by returning me to the couch, over and over, again.  If you had known my mama, someone who did not like to deprive her children, unless it was absolutely necessary, you would know what a sacrifice it was for her to follow-through on this particular disciplinary action.

     So, for a little more than an hour, the female minds battled for power.  Finally, and she always ended by saying she wasn't sure how much longer she could have continued, as we had both reached a point where silent sobs accompanied steady tears, Mama lifted me by both arms and SET me on the couch, saying, "Now, stay there and don't you dare get down!"

     With those words, I must have decided that she was either more stubborn or more powerful because that is exactly what I did; I stayed there.  Mama said that, once I accepted the terms, she only had me sit there for five minutes, but it was the longest five minutes she ever suffered through.

     As was her custom, when the discipline was through, she held me and told me how much she loved me and how important it was for me to learn to listen.  The lesson must have sunk in because she said I never did show a streak of stubbornness quite that extreme, again.  Maybe, the lesson sunk in.  Or maybe, I just decided that I should cut my mama some slack.  Ya' just never know with summa' those rotten little girls.  Rotten, rotten.  Through and through.  And I assure you, rotten is my middle name.  Until the next time, keep a hug on.

Yaya