Monday, February 13, 2012
Some of the items I'm considering re-purposing came to me from my mother. As I carefully consider whether to (A) change them and (B) *how* to change them, I think of her.
Born and raised in North Carolina, my mother was a true Southern belle - a Sherman tank disguised as a powder puff. She could bake anything, sew anything (most all of my clothes until I was a teen-ager, and in one instance, a very memorable Little Bo Peep Halloween costume - from scratch), and make you quake with fear by just raising her right eyebrow.
She loved beautiful things, and when she died right after my 15th birthday, those "things" took on new significance. The really special things are in my home now, and they help make my house a home.
When I look at her wedding china, I remember her carefully setting the table at Christmas time. Because of her, I know which fork to use when, and how to fold napkins. I use her pink Depression glassware in the summer because it reminds me of the azaleas outside our house in Jacksonville, and the hand-painted china baby cup she made me occupies a place of honor on my mantel. I love to look at the delicate forget-me-nots and I smile to think she made that for me, and true to the flowers she painstakingly applied, I have forgotten her not..even after 35 years.
I turned 50 last June, and I've lived to be older than my mother did. But she lives on in my memories - and in Mama's things.