Sunday, June 12, 2016


The other day I was in the grocery store and someone asked me to grab something off of the top shelf for them. “Sure, no problem”, I said. At 6 foot 3 inches, with longer than normal arms, the requests for my extensive reach are quite common.
The follow-up catch-phrases from the vertically challenged people that I help are usually quite common as well- “Must be nice being so tall”,   “Aren’t you lucky you don’t need a ladder”, “How’s the air up there anyway?”, you know, that kind of thing. I’ve been this tall for forty-plus years so I’m quite used to it.
I normally just smile, nod and agree that it is nice to be tall despite the fact that it’s hard to find a bathtub, bed or a couch that fits my top-shelf reaching body and there are so many scars in my scalp from bumping my head on all manner of things and I have more scars on my knees and shins from trying to get into the car after “somebody” didn’t move the seat BACK. Yes, there are advantages to being really tall but there, as usual, are disadvantages, too.
However, my number one retort to the fact that my body is what it is…is that I never pre-ordered it. It wasn’t like there was a form to fill out or anything. Here’s how it went: I was conceived, I was born, I grew, then I grew some more and then I really started to grow. In the end, it’s all in the genes, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I very much appreciate my height but I really didn’t have much of a say in the matter, either.
You might say that’s the way it is with parents, too. Once they’re expecting there’s no turning back. They get what they get. My parents got me. And eight others, too, I guess I should mention. I think every sibling has their own special connection with their parents but the Mothers have that extra special something, it seems.
I talk to my three kids a fair amount on the phone but their Mom’s got me beat 5-to-1…at least. I sure miss those Sunday phone calls with my Mom.
My Mom gave birth to me when she was thirty-five years old and she passed away at nearly ninety-two. I consider myself so very fortunate to have been able to share so many years together.
Some of my favourite memories of my Mom are from the Saturday afternoons of my youth. Mom was always in her house dress with an apron on and either cooking or cleaning up from cooking, or so it seemed. The well-lit kitchen was the focal point of the house. The smell of her famous cinnamon buns mixed in with the coffee aroma wafting from the Corningware coffee perk that was perpetually simmering on the stove. It just smelled like home. Like Mom’s house.
Another memory I have of Mom is seeing her sitting in her favourite chair in the living room, when she finally got a chance to sit down, with a sock over her hand and a darning needle pressed in her lips watching one of her favourite shows on TV. Even sitting down she was busy!
This weekend I will be celebrating Mother’s Day with my children’s Mom and the Mom’s of our grandkids, as both of our Mothers have passed, but the circle of life continues and traditions are now being passed on to another generation. The coffee pot will be on, and, Lord willing, there will be cinnamon buns.

“Happy Mother’s Day to all moms, grannies, great grannies, step moms, foster moms and those who lost their Mom. Moms are priceless.”-Author Unknown.

No comments:


Here's a reprise of a little Christmas poem I threw together for you. Three Kings, shepherds and a babe in the manger. The E...