Something my Mother Gave Me

This is the picture I grew up gazing at and wish, wish, wishing I would look like my mother.  I remember her expressing out loud that she would like to be called “Mother”.  At the time, it seemed too hard to switch  from “Mom”.  But now . . .

Aunt Lanea and Mother

I don’t look like her (dang it!) but I find myself looking a little like her on the inside.  We both thrill at a bluebird sighting, and so many other similarities come to mind.   But surely a biggie is her love for WORDS.  She gave me and all my 9 brothers and sisters that.  Thanks Mom, err, Mother!  Tonight she is going to a Relief Society Meeting.  They’ve been asked to bring “You In a Bag” (is it just me, or does that sound a little startling?). They are to put three things into a bag that will tell the other sisters about themselves.  She told me she is including this poem as one of those items.

He ate and drank the precious words,    
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book — what liberty
A loosened spirit brings!

Emily Dickinson

“ Dance along the Dingy Days”!  Such words.  Sheer poetry.

I’m committing this one to