After my mother died, my brother and I found several photos of her which had been taken by newspaper photographers. The pictures had never been framed, simply tucked away in a drawer along with some of her unfulfilled dreams.
When World War II broke out, she went to NC State to learn welding so that she could help in the war effort–a Rosie the Riveter. She headed for Baltimore to work in the shipyards there. Instead, she ended up teaching welding there.
This photo was taken at a parade during one of our town’s big celebrations. Centennial, perhaps? She’s the tall one in the capelet dress. To this day, that’s my favorite plaid. I used to peek at the dress which had been relegated to the bottom of her cedar chest. I’m sure she never wore it again.
My neighbor grows the loveliest roses in town. She gave my Dearly Beloved these to give to me for Mother’s Day. She’d cut them just before the rains came. They smell divine!
Happy Mother’s Day to my daughters, moms of our five wonderful grandsons.
Happy Mother’s Day to EVERYONE, mothers of the heart. You, too, Mother Earth!
And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see–or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read . – Alice Walker