At Considerable Cost

"Let me get my purse," she would say, as she turned around, untied her apron, and headed back inside.   My parents would wait for Mama's Grandma Taylor until she came out with her purse and closed the door beside her.   Mama always said that after they'd driven a few miles, only then would her grandmother ask, "Where are we going?" This was the story Mama liked to tell me about picking up her grandmother for Sunday drives.   Mama would emphasize to me when I was little that my great-grandmother did not care where she was going, she was just always ready to go.   To get out of the house.   To go on a little adventure.   I knew my mama daydreamed about traveling across the country on a motorcycle or in an RV as part of a retirement life.   She would imagine all the places she would see and the people she would meet along the way.  She was always open to adventure when a friend called or stopped by with an idea of some excursion or some other fun. It

The first major cold front finally blew into our area.   It offered us relief from unseasonably warm temperatures that followed our seasonably hot summer.    Along with a welcome change in weather, Autumn has brought back memories of that season on our small farm in Louisiana. The pecan harvest fell to women and children on our farm.   My father commuted thirty miles to the university where he taught and when he was home, any work he did was related to the cattle.   I would pick pecans after school, but for me, the real work —and the real memories—belonged to Saturdays.   On those mornings, I woke early and dressed in my warmest, oldest clothes.    Blue jeans that could take wet, grass stained knees and a too-large coat–previously the property of my parents or older sister– were basics in my pecan picking- ensemble.     A quick breakfast and then I headed outdoors, grabbed a bucket and prepared to hit my knees. When I tell people about picking up pecans,   they sometimes share

Today would have been Mama's 75th birthday.    Part of me reads that as "should" rather than "would."   I want her to be here.   I need her to look at me as only she could and I need her to tell me what I should do in so many situations as a mom.   I need to know more about what I was like as a child and how much of that is reflected in my own little ones.   I need her to tell me all the old stories again as the names and faces of those relatives so distant to me are fading.   I need my children to have a grandma.   I just need her.   Here. Here and now, that's okay for me to feel.   I've given myself permission to let the tears flow today and indulge in a good cry, without any pep talks or attempts at pulling at my own bootstraps.   Because my favorite memories of Mama are her just being there.   There in that moment.   Sitting with her friends and laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face and she couldn't speak.    I get that from