Monday, February 14, 2011

My Valentine

My Valentine asked me, "What is a Valentine anyway?'  I said, "I guess it is a Sweetheart."  Then I began to think about the question.

I believe a Valentine, is someone who loves unconditionally, deeply and selflessly.  One who puts others first, and does for them without complaint. 

My Valentine isn't terribly romantic, but he does love me no matter how I act sometimes, his love for me is deep and not superficial and I truly believe that he puts my needs before his on a daily basis.

First, let me say that I am not always a "blessing" to have around.  Sometimes I am grumpy when I come home from work.  Frustrations and extended family problems sometimes get me down and I lash out at the one who loves me the most.  So what I am about to say is even more amazing than one would think.

My Valentine works on the farm feeding and taking care of upwards of 45 head of cattle, along with all the other daily chores a farmer has to do.  He also takes care of his mother who lives with us, making sure she has her meals when she wants them and the medicine she needs.

Most every day I come home to a meal my Valentine cooks for me.  He is a very good cook and even cleans up after himself. 

So, I may not be much of a blessing, but I am blessed to have such a wonderful Valentine every day.  Not just on Valentine's Day.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

She's My Mama

She’s My Momma!

                                                                                                By Paula Pinkston

My Momma was a “jack of all trades” and a “master” of many.  There was nothing Momma couldn’t do.  I have so many memories of our Easter dresses, coats and bonnets that she would make every year.  The bows she made for our socks always matched our dresses perfectly.  Our Easter baskets were lovingly filled and wrapped with pretty colored cellophane and ribbons.  She would always make a cake with green coconut grass, nests and colorful jelly bean eggs to finish off our Easter dinner. 

As we grew older Momma still made a lot of our clothes.  We had all the latest styles, like boxed pleated skirts, “nothing” blouses with monograms, and Can-Can skirts.  She even made our formals, and wedding dresses. 

Momma painted walls, hung wallpaper and even hung drywall.  She was instrumental in the building of two rooms in the attic of our house which became bedrooms for my sister and me.  That is where she learned she could drywall, put in windows and texture ceilings.  It never seemed to occur to Momma that she couldn’t do whatever it was she wanted to do.  I don’t remember anything she ever tried that she couldn’t do.  

When I was a teenager Momma decided to remodel the living room.  She wanted a royal blue carpet and a white corduroy sofa.  She also wanted a chair and cornice boards covered in royal blue floral print fabric. In a few weeks that is exactly what she had.  I watched as she took the pieces off the sofa and the chair one at a time and marked them, cut out the new pieces the same size and shape as the old ones and carefully sewed and stapled until all the pieces were replaced.  Even though she had never done it before, Momma discovered she could upholster furniture, cut out cornice boards, cover them and make draperies like a pro.  Daddy helped her lay the carpet and rearrange the furniture.  When that was done the room looked just as she had pictured it.

Not only could she sew, monogram, do carpentry work, upholster and cook, she could also draw and paint the most beautiful pictures you ever saw.  My Momma was the most talented women I have ever known.

Even though Momma could do all these things and more, she was always very self-conscious and shy, always thinking she wasn’t good enough, or talented enough.  She was always very kind and generous to others, but never felt good about herself.  Momma was a remarkable woman, friend, wife, mother and grandmother. 

Oh, Momma is still with us in body, but the essence of Momma is lost in the thralls of Alzheimer’s disease.  It is very difficult to watch her now as she tries to remember who I am or how to pick up a fork, or put one foot in front of the other.

I still remember who she is though and who I am because of who she was…she’s my Momma.

If Daddy Had a Bucket List

IF DADDY HAD A BUCKET LIST…

My daddy passed away in March 1998 when he was 66 years old.  It seemed awfully young then and now that I am moving in on 60 it seems even younger.  Daddy would have been 79 on August 4th this year. 

I was thinking about him the other day; wondering what he would have been doing at this time in his life had the cancer not taken him.  Would he be healthy?  Would he be active?

Then I started wondering if he had a “bucket list”.  If so, what would Daddy have wanted to do before he died if he’d had the chance? 

He wasn’t much of a dreamer and never talked much about the things he wanted to do, he just did them.  He was always puttering around doing something; even if it was just cutting wood, or digging sassafras root.  He liked going through junk and salvaging interesting pieces.  I guess I get that from him. 

I believe Daddy wanted a simple life and would have liked to be able to live off the land.  He wasn’t a worrier, at least not outwardly.  He loved animals and I believe he would have had all the border collies he could have fed.

His morning coffee was important to him; and the last year or so of his life I would stop on my way to work and have a cup with him.  I think that meant a lot to him and I know it did to me. 

I think he would have wanted to still be trading horses and mules and working them on a farm.  I do know one thing he always wanted to do, but never got the chance and that was to go on the annual trail ride to Renfro Valley with his own team of mules and a wagon.

I also know he would have wanted to see his children and grandchildren grow up and have children of their own.

If there was one extravagant thing he could have had, it would have been a new red Dodge 4-wheel drive pickup truck.

I know he wouldn’t have given up on living, because he didn’t, right up until that last day, when we took him to the doctor in Danville and on to St. Joseph Hospital.  He kept saying, “I am not giving up Paula, I’m not giving up.  He didn’t come back with us that day, but he wanted to.  He kept saying “take me home, I want to go home”.  And that he did.