I think my mom came by for a little visit today

Yep.  I think she did.

A few days ago I started boxing up breakables.  Nope, these are not things that will be going to our little booth at Antiques on Howard.  These are treasures that we will keep forever.

We're getting ready to do a deep, deep, deep clean.  We found someone who has agreed to do the heavy stuff that my 73 year old self isn't as able to do as i once was. (And have just gotten too lazy to do, truth be told).

She's been out to talk to me and look the place over and we were able to come up with a plan that suits us both.  

She's a young, smart, savy small business owner, local to the area who I took to right away.

Once she and her assistant have completed the serious business of getting this little nest nurtured and shining again she'll be coming every couple of weeks to help me keep it the way it deserves to be kept.

It is, after all, our nest.

It holds our dreams, and it holds a lot of memories.

Many of the memories belong to my mom.   

Even though we gave away, and then sold, some of her things, there is a lot still here.   And the stories that come with some of the pieces are sweet.  

Some are funny, and some right down hilarious.

Just like her.

I've taken the long way around to share the story I started out to share.  (This is where my old friend Michael Dean would have rolled his eyes, thrown his hands in the air and said, "can't you EVER tell the Reader's Digest version, Kaye Alan?!").

. . . no.

Anyhoo . . . I'm packing up breakables for a couple reasons.  To get a lot of the clutter out of the way for when Bettina comes, and because I want to move things around.  

The same things have been sitting in the same place for too long.  When that happens they tend to become, I think, invisible.

So, the white ironstone pitchers and Mother's Nippon and Imari are gonna mix it up a little with books, local made pottery, art glass, old teddy bears, wooden butter molds, and miscellaneous "stuff."

While picking up an old porcelain box of my mom's I very distinctly heard her say, "look inside."

I don't care who believes me.  I heard her.

It's not the first time, and it doesn't spook me.  

If you knew Hazel Wilkinson it wouldn't surprise you either.  She was a force.  And apparently, still is.

So, i looked inside.

I'm sure I looked inside this piece before.   Well.  Pretty sure.

When we moved her things here when we moved her out of her apartment into Cranberry House things were tough.  

Boxes of stuff were just left to sit.

And then, in just a few weeks time, she was gone.

Boxes continued to sit.

When a mood moved me, I would open a box. 

  

Some still have not been opened.

Over time, some things found themselves a new home.

Some things found a spot on a shelf here.

My mom and I had very different decorating styles.  That's not to say I didn't admire and appreciate her home, because I did.  Very much.  It was just a little more formal than mine.

And over time, I have really begun to enjoy spotting an odd little Asian man with a cheerful wizened face that was once my mom's peeking out at me from behind an old pottery pitcher.

The porcelaine box I picked up to box up was, i thought, just stuffed with tissue paper.  

If you gave my mom a gift, she would tuck the tissue it was wrapped in into whatever might be close at hand.  Finding tissue wrap in flower pots, ginger jars, coffee mugs, etc was a family joke my entire life.

So this porcelaine box with tissue wrap in it was nothing to make me think twice.  It just was what it was.

Until I heard that very distinct voice telling me to open it.

No rattles.

No movement whatsoever.

But a very tightly wrapped treasure.

I remember this beach theme bracelet and matching clip-on earrings like I just saw them yesterday when actually, I don't recall when I last saw them

She called it her Ocean City jewelry.

She admired it in a souvenir shop on the Boardwalk in Ocean City, MD when we were there for our annual two weeks at the beach vacation.  I was probably around 10 years old.  My dad went back later in the day and bought it for her.  

I don't think she ever went back to Ocean City without wearing that jewelry.  

She wore the bracelet all day while we were there, but the earrings were saved for dinners out.  

I think it might be time for a trip back to Ocean City.  My mom and dad loved it there.

And so did I. 

 http://www.meanderingsandmuses.com/2010/10/little-run-down-boardwalk-of-memory.html

meanderingsandmuses.com/2016/06/ocean-city-md-another-walk-down-memory.html

This Woman . . .

A lot of you knew my mom.

And for those of you who did not, here she is.

THE feistiest of little women with a flair for the dramatic.

Most of the jewelry y'all are looking at in the previous post belonged to her. 

A lot of it was given to her by Don Barley who tried to pick up in the jewelry gifting department after my dad died. 

Truth be told, if either of those men had given her a rock they had hot glued a few big rhinestones on, she would have loved it dearly, as much as she loved her two best guys. 

That said, she visited me in a dream last night. 

Hand on one hip. 

Cigarette in hand. 

Eyes snapping. 

And she said, "Kaye Alan, I hope I don't need to tell you not to sell my jewelry cheap. I still know where you live and I still know how to get here. AND, I am still your mother." 

That said, I have started taking pictures of necklaces, pendants and beads and have made a wee start that I'll be posting here at Meanderings and Muses soon.   http://www.meanderingsandmuses.com/2018/08/there-comes-time.html

And to those of you who have made purchases?

 Thank You. 

And I hope you'll think of me and Ms. Mary Hazel Messick Wilkinson, aka as "my mom" when you wear it.

Aunt Eve - You will always be in my heart

Aunt Eve.

One of my mom's sisters, one of her closest friends.

One of the many aunts that helped raise me.


A woman I deeply loved.  


Loved, respected, looked up to, trusted and enjoyed.



The older I get, the more I've come to appreciate the women who have graced my life.


Although I was an only child, my mom and dad both came from large families, so I was surrounded by aunties all my growing up years.


They taught me much.


Sadly, over the years, I've lost most of them.


My Aunt Eve left us yesterday morning, but she will live in my heart for the rest of my life.


We talked on the phone not long ago, and as we always did, we laughed a lot.


And then, as we always did, we cried a little.
.


We talked about my mom and we laughed some more.


Then we cried a little more.


And we made plans for Donald and I to come for a visit in the spring.


Spring will come and we won't be making that visit, but I will think of this beautiful woman and all the years I was lucky enough to have her in my life.


How wise she was.


How funny and smart and talented.


And while I will miss her, I can imagine her arriving at the pearly gates, getting her wings and then sitting down next to my mom, along with the other sisters,  sharing a little bit of family gossip, a secret or two and a belly laugh or three.

Sisters

Donald and Harley and I went to Knoxville for the weekend.

We went to see my Aunt Eve.

Eve was my mom's sister, and her best friend.

Here's a little collage I put together of the two of them a few years ago.

These pictures were taken one evening at our house in Meat Camp when my mom, Aunt Eve and her husband, J.T. were visiting.

Mother and Eve were always a hoot to be around.  They could get tickled over everything and nothing,  and this particular evening they were, as you can see, in fine form.

Mother's Day

I first posted this in 2011.

I had planned on revising it a little, so I added a few photos.

But.

I found I could not - could not - bring myself to changing the words to past tense.

so, I'm leaving it as it was.

It says all it needs to say, I think, except for one thing.


I miss you, Mom.

Happy Mother's Day

My Mom, Mary Hazel Messick Wilkinson, is my buddy.  But.  When I was growing up, she was my Mom - first and always.  She  figured I had enough friends, and her job was to be my mom; to teach me the things you don't learn from your friends.  She did a great job.  And, honestly, still doing a great job of it.  She's quick to remind me, when I get too big for my britches, that she's the mother - and I am not ever to treat her any differently than that.  She will fight that role reversal thing we all worry about tooth and nail - and as of right now  she's winning.  So, yes, she's my buddy - but she's still my Mom.  The only thing I think she forgets is that she didn't actually give birth to Donald.  She loves the guy every bit as much as if she did, and it works both ways, he loves her right back.  She's sharp as a tack, cute, funny and a whole bunch of fun to hang out with.

Meet my Mom.

Hazel Wilkinson.

"To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power." 

Maya Angelou

"Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible -- the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family." ~ Virginia Satir 

 

My Donald and My Mom

I ran across this picture yesterday morning.

Don Barley and I are coming up on 30 years of marriage.

Thirty years.

Like every couple, we've had  our ups and downs.

But.

He's brought me more joy than I can even begin to say.

Equally important is the fact that he brought my mother a lot of joy also. 

They were buddies.

And it always filled my heart to see them enjoying one another.

Finding this picture yesterday had me sitting down and doing some reflecting and soul searching.

A body needs to do that once in awhile.

Don Barley - I love you to the moon and back, sweetie. 

Always.

sad

Know what I hate?

That next week I'll celebrate my 67th birthday. The first birthday that I won't be celebrating with my mom.

Won't be receiving a sweet, funny card from her.

Won't get to hear her sing Happy Birthday to me over the phone a dozen times - each time more hysterical than the time before.

That she won't be giving me a little gift in the most bedraggled birthday bag you've ever seen, but one neither of us could bear to part with until maybe "next year."

That I won't get to feel her put her arms around me and tell me she loves me and then stand back and smile at me with that mischievous little twinkle that she always had in those eyes of hers.

And I won't be able to say "I love you, Mom."

Saying goodbye

By Herself and Her Friends

If I should go before the rest of you
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone,
Nor when I'm gone speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must, Parting is hell,
But Life goes on, So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell



Donald and Harley and I drove to Atlanta for the weekend.

We took some back roads as much as possible so as not to have to deal with the idiocy of expressways.

There are always fun things to discover traveling country roads, and this trip we ran across this wonderful old home that looks like it should be sitting on Nob Hill in San Francisco.

It wasn't sitting in San Francisco, but was instead in Shelby, NC




Donald and I lived in Atlanta for many years, but we've been gone almost 20 years.


The skyline looks a little different than it did while we were there.  

The traffic, however, looks about the same.

We stayed with dear and much loved friends Vickie & Brent Smith.

and we had a fabulous time.

We were welcomed with smiles, heaps of love, open arms and a wonderful home cooked meal, cooked by one of the best cooks I know.

And Harley was warmly welcomed also.

Saturday morning when we woke up, truthfully, I only wanted to pull the covers up over my head and stay right where I was.

But, I couldn't do that.

We were here to celebrate the life of Mary Hazel Messick Wilkinson.

As much as I wanted to do this celebration, my heart was breaking.

Quite plain and simply, I could not have done it without Vickie.  I just couldn't have.

So we started the day early by first picking up flowers, then picking up balloons.  All things Vickie had taken care of ordering and making sure they would be ready for pickup at the appropriate times.  

She was also the brains behind the mimosas for a toast to my mom at the end of the ceremony.  

The ceremony which was perfect thanks to our friend John Messer.

Truly, it could not have been any more perfect.

John set a comfortable, loving tone for us to send my mom off to join my dad.

He told some sweet stories, some very funny stories and shared some memories from over the years.  After which others had stories to share as well.

If Mother had been able to tell us what she might have wanted, I feel pretty sure it was exactly what we did.

We done her proud, as we're fond of saying here in the south.

We sent my mom off amid a few tears, but a lot of smiles, amongst friends, family, flowers, balloons and champagne on a beautiful Georgia day.

And it was a magical day.



We celebrated the life of Hazel Wilkinson in a way that I know had her, and my dad, smiling.

Following the service and after the toast, there were balloons.

More magic.















And then there was lunch.  A long, lovely, relaxed lunch.

Where we discovered that folks who thought they didn't know one another had all sorts of friends of friends and intersecting lives.

And then it was back to the Smith abode.  

More champagne.

and plans to go out to dinner were changed to 

pizza at home - Yay!!!!

And then Sunday was here before we knew it.

Time to say goodbye.

As Kasey Fennell would have said, "it was a good weekend."