Measuring Spoons

The bananas are waiting
On my counter

The recipe hangs on my wall
And I have the eggs
And butter
And sugar

Measuring spoons
laying in the dusty cardboard box
That were tossed alongside
empty dried up tupperware

Almost looked discarded
But they were saved,
along with everything else

The boxes, labeled with words scribbled
Didn't contain what was written on the outside
Boxes usually create a sense of surprise
But these boxes were sitting alone
For twenty years

Waiting for something, someone, some perfect time
For us to open them

We sat them on the cold cement floor and began..
One after the other
Each one had a story
And my mind was jerked backwards

It was all going really well
Till I began sorting through this one box
Of various kitchen items
And my hands landed on the measuring spoons
The tiny ring still holding them together

A hundred moments rushed into my mind, my heart
Making cakes, pies, cobblers, dressings, icings, homemade ice cream,
giving medicine, and making stain removers with baking soda and vinegar
And banana bread
I can see her hands holding these dangling spoons
I can see her smiling
And mixing with her electric mixer
that lays in the bottom of this box

I clutch the spoons
And I begin to weep
I miss her so bad
Especially in the fall
When the crisp leaves outside take me back to walks in the woods
Where we simply enjoyed the leaves and the smell of nuts and smoky fires

It all seems so wrong
So broken
For her to not be here
I feel the unnatural end to her life
It wasn't supposed to go this way
She was supposed to be here now
To talk to me about these spoons
Because I have so many questions
The kind you don't even thing of until the person is gone
What was your favorite recipe?
What did you enjoy cooking the most?
What is your favorite food?
Can you show me exactly how to make your blackberry cobber?
Can you tell me your secret to perfect fried chicken?
What did you dream of when you were a little girl?
What was your favorite time of life?
What is your favorite season?


But in all the questions, the one I think of the most, but I dare not ask is this one.
Did you know I loved you?
Did you know that I needed you still?
Did you know that I missed you?
Did you know that I saw how strong you were?
Did you think I didn't care?
Did you know I was going to need you, a lot, in 5 years, 10 years, 20 years?
Why didn't you call me?
I would have come to you.
I would have helped you make a plan to have a good life.

I am so sorry you didn't feel like you could call on me.

I want to hold your spoons and talk to you about life.
But I want to hold you Mom.

I have a heartache today, that is bearing down on me like a heavy load of bricks.
So I am doing what I do to get these bricks off my back.
I take them down, one at a time, and look at them
Describe them.
Each brick has a word on it.
The first one was
"measuring spoons"
And the next  one was
"I loved your measuring spoons"
The others came rushing by so fast, I almost couldn't read what was on them
But they were all covered in tears
And the last one is on the horizon
I am looking for it now.

Some bricks have only one word
Some have sentences
Others just a fingerprint

Hair bow

A tiny plastic pink hair-bow
Lays on the white tiled, cool bathroom floor
She's packed her things
Her creams and shampoos, soap and lotions
She has no towels of her own
So I hand her the blue and purple ones
That used to be in our bathroom
Before the move

The move over here, to a new life for me
And for her

A place where she started to soar, but then sank into
anxiety and depression
So deep that my arms couldn't reach her

Four years have passed and sometimes
I see the little girl with a pink hair bow
And sometimes I see a young woman
Strong and determined, a little scared
But moving forward a small step at a time

I didn't pick up the pink hair bow off the floor today
I want to look at it a few days more

End

Finished
Empty room, bicycle
Flowers, sticks, balls, breakfast is ready
Bath time, clean your room, homework time
Build a fire, toast, coffee, hot tea
Cereal and milk, spread the grits to cool them
watermelon, tanner beach, water park
baseball, running fast, shirtless
outgrown tennis shoes, blonde hair, red cheeks
butterfly kisses, button down shirt for church
Head in my lap, asleep in the car
school visits, do your best, yes you can
court room, heart-racing, man in black robe
Darth Vader speaks the doom
No one believes it
Silence for centuries
A vacuum sucks me out of the world
Peace
Return
Quiet
Blueberries, birds, porch, hot tea, books, friends, warm fire
Alone
God
Mama, where are you?
I see you Mama, you're a butterfly
Hold me Mama
Mary, you know how I feel?
She does
Comfort
Heart ache
More comfort
Heart weak
More comfort
Soft tears
More comfort
Sunrise
Birds sing
Quiet
Flowers bloom
Music
Dance
Paint
Love
Hunger
Love
Companion
Life
Children grow
Let go
Human
Earth gives
Earth takes
God loves
Heart heals
Love grows
Fields blossom
Harvest
Abundance
Gratitude
Life
Reflection
End

I would

I would walk through the briars
Poison Ivy, and Icy Creeks
I would climb over large stumps
Face snakes of all types
Enter a dark cave with no flashlight
I would pick up broken glass
And hold it tight in my hand
I would walk across a bridge with no sides
crossing a deep gorge, with my eyes wide open
I would go inside a burning building
and look in every room, and under every pillow
and rug and pull up the floor piece by piece
to find you
And I would find the strength, to carry you out
of the burning building
I would wash you off, give you oxygen
bind your wounds and hold your hand
till you were ready to let go
Then I would watch you walk towards your destiny
Tall and strong and proud
My son

Heal

A family broken
Comes together, for one who is broken.
We watch her travel the road, a little shaky, but determined.
She stands, and sways a bit, her man beside her
Gently holding her hands.
Reassurance
He will hold her up if she falls
Not a metaphor
Really. He will hold her.
A union of two, became a union of twelve
Maybe thirteen if you count the little ones

One is still missing from the circle.
No one mentions his name.

Families break
Brokenness brings something beautiful
Gratitude
Hope
Forgiveness
Love
Healing
Beauty
Smiles
Laughter

Families Heal
Tears
Hope
Joy
God
Peace
Mercy
Love

God Gave me Zinnias

Last year I tossed a huge cluster of dried up zinnias over the back fence.
The cows stepped on them, nibbled on them and probably pooped on them, too.
As the fall came, I tossed leftovers: slimy broccoli, old grits, forgotten gravy over the fence.
Don't let me forget about the blackened bananas that were 'one day soon' going to become banana bread.
As winter came, I tossed forgotten baked potatoes, wilted celery and yellow spinach over the fence.


A few weeks ago, on a warm spring day, I carefully poured potting soil into sculptured cement squares.
5 days later,  little green shoots emerged, reaching for the sky.
2 days later, they leaned over.
1 day later, they turned brown.
And I am sad, because I love zinnias.

Let me tell you some history now. Every year, for nearly 16 years, I've planted zinnias. Not so I can have flowers, but for the weeds.

Yes, I planted flowers for the sole purpose of pulling weeds.
"It'll help you express your feelings." A wise woman told me.
I wanted my life to change, so I listened to her.
When I'd feel anger rise from my feet, and fly towards my face, I'd step outside to visit the weeds.
Kneeling down, I'd yank the weeds by their roots.
Interesting strings of words formed in my head as I pulled.
'Why does it have to be this way? Why can't I....Why can't he...My life isn't..."
I'd pull for a while, I'd sweat and make a pile of weeds, then I'd go back inside. Calmer. 

That's how it started anyway.
Things changed. No. I changed. I wasn't angry anymore.

I began talking to God while I weeded. He showed me that I needed let go of the things I couldn't change.
With a clear head, I made better choices. 
I continued to plant zinnias, and they greeted me each day as I came home from work.
I had a large flowerbed beside my mailbox, then another one beside my garage.
The large multi-colored blossoms were quite brilliant.
They made a fabulous back drop for photos of my kids, kids friends, pets, just about anything looked more beautiful with the zinnias behind them.

I have a new home, a new life and no more anger.
So, I planted the zinnias. I used the best potting soil. I watered them faithfully. They died.

I consoled myself.
"Oh well, we have lots of others that are doing great."
But I wanted zinnias.

Last week, I walked to the back fence, to toss out some old spaghetti.
I looked down, and noticed some little round green leaves amongst the grass and weeds.
They looked familiar.
"Maybe it's the sunflowers I planted last year that never grew." I told my husband.

I've kept an eye on them for two weeks, waiting to see them shoot up and grow smiling sunflower faces.
Yesterday, I studied these little green plants, that are now about 6 inches high. 
One of them had a bud on it.
"It's a zinnia!" I hollered to no one except myself.

I opened the gate to the back field last night, and walked to the area where I saw the zinnias
The grass is above my knees, almost to my hips,
But I could see small green leaves, five, ten, no, twenty, oh there's another one and another...
"Twenty eight zinnias!" I hollered to my husband as he sat on the back porch.

This morning, I got up around 6:15 and went to check on my zinnias.
One is about to bloom.
The other 27 are in the tall grass.
"I must weed!"
I marched inside, found a pair of scissors and went back to the field.
Blade by blade, I trimmed the grass, cut away the weeds, to give the zinnia's a chance to show me their beauty.

Throwing dead things over the fence is important.
When I let go, then God can give me beauty.
God gave me zinnias.
Effortless Zinnias.

Almost 18

Fuzzy blonde head
Bluest blues
Crawled out of bed
Ran to get the ball
Said "Bootball" to everyone in the Piggly Wiggly
Jumped, climbed, ran, jumped again, climbed higher, kept running

Picked a flower
Cut the grass
Chopped a tree
Hugged my neck

I wiped his tears
He wiped mine
Asked deep questions
About love, and life and God and Jesus
Asked for angels to sit on our roof
with shields, and swords, and helmets
to protect us at night

Outside till dark
Riding his bike till his cheeks were red
Pushed a wheelbarrow for
Miss Mary
Rode his bike in circles around me
while I walked to unwind

Blonde hair touches his shoulders
Fuzzy chin if he forgets to shave

He loves Tuesday's gone
Panera Bread
Sitting on his bed listening to
Cage the Elephant
Learning new guitar chords

I visit his school
He lights up with pride
"My mom is here'
The math teacher speaks of his smarts
"He's almost 18"
I hear myself say it
"Fourteen days."
He hollers across the parking lot
as he says good-bye to Joey
His long hair blows in the breeze

And my heart swells with a love
That only a mother can understand
What I'd give up for him
What I'd do for him

He came to me at 37
The blessing of being older
is you cherish every minute
You try hard to stop and absord the moments
The sights, the smells, the laughter, the pain
Because you know it will be gone
In a flash

You have wisdom at 38, that you wish you didn't have
You have more wisdom at 40, understanding that those soft little cheeks
will soon be square
And the soft, high voice, will soon drop
At 45, you understand that its time to let go
Because boys become men
So you loosen the grip
And pray real hard

Then, when he is almost 18
He reaches out to me
To hold my hand
And wipe my tears

Because he is almost 18
And he understands

Stevie

The woman

Flowing dress, spinning on stage
Arms raised, touching the sounds
Lifting the music for us to see

Her rough voice strokes our souls
The soft touch of a wispy scarf
carries the notes to us

The culture tells me
Its better to embrace the masculine
So that I can have power
And strength

Yet Stevie spins and sings
And waves her female spirit across the air waves
I'm on the verge of fifteen
And I want to be like Stevie

Flowing dress, spinning on stage
Arms raised, touching the sounds
Lifting the music for us to see

Her rough voice, strokes our tired souls
The soft touch of a wispy scarf
carries the notes to us

Stevies voice drowns the angry chatter of feminists
seeking to smash my womanhood

Thank you Stevie
For sharing your sweet shrine of lace and pearls
and long dresses

Now I embrace my feminine soul
For it has more strength and power
Than a 3-piece suit