To shop, or not . . .

To which my mom would roll her eyes, let Mr. Thoreau know she disagreed, grab her bag and go shopping.

I'm with my mom.  

She raised me to shop.  And to seek out a good bargain.

There was never a family vacation that didn't include a shopping trip.

And she would have been over-joyed with some of the 75% off Labor Day sales I found.

I have become my mama.

I'm okay with that.

Memories in photograph albums

My dad died in 1984. 


One of the things my mom and I did before moving from Atlanta to Boone in 1997 was go through several hundreds of photos.

(I get my "camera love" from my dad)


It was a painful, joyous, tearful, laugh-filled time.  

Lots of "omg, remember this?!"


And some "WHO is that?!"  


Pictures of people neither of us remembered, but who we knew weren't family members, were finally tossed.


And she decided which pictures she wanted to keep and gave me the rest. 


After we moved to Boone, before I found a job and while Donald was at work, my mom and I would spend days putting pictures in photo albums. 

This was easier on our hearts than that first step of going through them all.

The surprises were behind us, and the memories were sweet.

And we laughed.

Those were good days.



Then my mom died in 2015.


I was now retired, and Donald was still working.


I spent several days going through her apartment deciding what to do with what, and Donald would come over in the evenings to help.


Again, wow - memories.  They can knock a person flat.



We brought this box of photo albums home with us.

Photos I haven't seen since 1997.


I haven't been able to bring myself to open the first album.


But it may be time.


I've been missing my folks.  A lot.


It would be nice to be able to pick up the phone and talk about how we're feeling right now.  


Honestly?  Some days I feel sad and frightened and need a hug from my mom and dad.


Hear my mom toss out some of her salty philosophy, while my dad wears a grin at her dramatics and nods his head.


So.


Since I can't sit across the table from them for Sunday dinner, maybe it's time for me to relive some memories that are all tied up in these photo albums.


I love and miss them both.

Hazel and Al Wilkinson

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

Mary Hazel Messick Wilkinson

Thinking of you, and missing you

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.

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 

 

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."