WARNING: MIXING GENRES MAY CAUSE CONFUSION

There is a strangeness going on within my mind at this point and some of the blame lies with my illness and the medicine to treat it. However, I believe that part of ricocheting thoughts have been caused by immersing myself in three completely different types of books at the same time. For example, when I finally turned off the bedside light last night, my mind continued to think in the Southern twang of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Scenes from that book danced across my closed eyelids and revived my memories and those stories my mom had shared of her life during the Great Depression. Reading about that time and the views held by people reminded me of some snippets of stories told by my sweet mom.

When she was a young girl (in the "roaring twenties") her large family lived in a huge house that had once been grand, but at this point was in need of more repair than was possible with her Pa's meager pay as a steam shovel operator. Her mother was from the old country (Germany) and kept her large family fed and clothed with whatever money Pa shared. Gardens were cultivated for vegetables, fruit trees were harvested, and chickens were raised for eggs and meat. Nothing was wasted, but everything was shared with whomever was more in need. Hard to imagine anyone more in need than a family with eleven children, but they somehow found their way to the doorstep of the large farm house.

Every spring for many years, traveling gypsies would come to ask permission to set up their wagons and camp in the apple orchard. In the evenings my mom and her sisters would go down there and sometimes sit up in the apple tree to sing songs in German. I can see these little white-headed girls sitting on the branch, with their saggy stockings, hand-me-down clean little dresses, and sparkling eyes sweetly singing with their pure voices. Below would be the rag-tag group of dark, swarthy families and their own children who accepted this welcome by a family who didn't know they were poor. If this would even be suggested in these times, oh, my would there be protests of "DANGER" "THEY CAN'T BE TRUSTED" or "THEY DON'T LOOK LIKE US, SO MAKE THEM GO AWAY." Luckily for my mom and her sisters, their outlook was one of adventure, acceptance and friendship.

There are other stories of my mom her relationships with people who looked different than her and at some other time, in another blog, I will share them. These stories speak volumes about the time in which my mother learned to be the person she was.

When my attention shifts to another book that I am exploring, then I am taken to a Southern college and the experiences of a naive girl who has made a few life changing mistakes. Tom Wolfe is the writer and he has a very colorful way of looking at the world. His language is not for the delicate, as he using the language of today's average college "jock". He does devout an entire section to the explanation of all the ways that the f-bomb can be and will be used. I know that I have diagrammed many a sentence in my day, and this section made for some interesting thought. More thought than the people who use this word actually give it, though.

This Tom Wolfe book reminds me of how truly unprepared I was to be in college and all the experiences which took over my being. I began college as a sweet, innocent, hopeful seventeen year old and finished as a wiser, tarnished, sadder, young adult. Would I change anything that happened to me at college? Probably not, for those experiences made me who I am today. On the other hand, if I had been treated kinder, gentler and nicer by the ones who tarnished me, one can only wonder who I would now. We will never know, since that part of my past is over and I have forgiven those who were so unkind to me. Forgiven, but not forgotten.

Since I am ready to return the murder mystery series to the library, I will drop them off outside and not be tempted to pick up another string of novels. Trimming down my diverse reading selections at this point is necessary, as I have found myself thinking in Bayou French (Ya-Ya) and trying to diagram the uses of the F-bomb. While I try to keep from coughing up a lung and push the fluids the distractions of too much input is slowing my recovery. Well, maybe not entirely, but my mind is really on overload at this point, so sleep is not coming as quickly as it should.

I must get back to the YA-YA's story, so until next time.

BINGO, PEEPS AND SLOTS:LOVE 'EM OR NOT

There were many things that I learned to appreciate from my mom. She was generous with herself; a hard worker; dedicated to her family; adventurous; and loyal to her friends. I not only admired these qualities, but I tried to make them my own. On the other hand there were a few areas of my mom that I never could quite grasp.

My mom was always very conservative when it came to spending money, as most of the people who survived the Great Depression are. With that in mind, or maybe because of that period of never having enough there were quirky things my mom did. She always washed and reused plastic bags, both the Ziploc and grocery kinds. Below her kitchen sink was an assortment of cleaned glass jars that she might "need" someday. She never met a store-package container that she couldn't reuse for some other purpose. Nothing was wasted with her when it came to food, clothing, or containers. This was just the way she was; waste not, want not.

Understanding how frugal she was might lead to a surprise if you saw her around Bingo Halls or Casinos. I went to play Bingo with her one time and found the whole experience confusing, frustrating and too challenging to keep up with all the scattered numbers. Finally, I slide her over my cards to finish the rest of the games and sat back to watch her in her element. It was amazing that at the close of the games she didn't even care that she hadn't won, she'd had a great time. She loved the challenge of keeping up with the caller and the cards in front of her. That woman's face would light up and a new energy enveloped her being.

We were taking a long road trip one time and her energy was waning, until we stopped at a casino to take a break. Before I could exit the car and help my "feeble" mom out of the backseat, she was nearly at the casino door. My husband and I could barely keep up with her. Putting the quarters in and pulling the handle melted the worries and age right off her. This was when I realized the simple joy my mom found in those one-armed bandits.

Right now, I am smiling remembering how I would pull up before dawn to her apartment and she would be waiting dressed in her "lucky" shirt with pockets to hold her playing money, fanny pack, sun hat, and a cooler packed with our traveling food. When you traveled with my mom, you were packed and prepared for anything and everything. Cold sodas, water (in those saved glass bottles), pretzels, sandwiches, homemade cookies, and other travel comfort foods were loaded and dispensed at whatever time we wanted them.

My mom and I took many trips to the casinos, so that she could stay up all night, play the slots, grab a couple hours of sleep, and give it another try on her "lucky machine" the next day.

During our trips home, she would entertain me with details of how close she had come to the big jackpot, how the person next to her had done, or on a rare occasion how she would spend her winnings once we got home. My huge jackpot was being able to spend time with her away from the everyday tedious duties and troubles.

Another thing that my mom loved, but sadly I didn't ever acquire a taste for was a seasonal treat. PEEPS intrigued me and my mom said she loved their texture, taste and colors. Every year I would try them and be disappointed. The gritty texture and overly sweetness were not to my liking. Peeps would remain an area that my mom and I had could never come to agreement. She loved them and could devour an entire pack in one sitting, while I would hand her over the ones in my Easter basket. She didn't seem to mind, at all.

I have come to the realization that I could adore my mom forever, while at the same time not adore all that made her smile. As long as I live, I won't be able to see a bingo card, slot machine or a simple PEEPS treat without thinking of my mom. Nice, sweet memories of a great lady.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY: A DAY OF SMILES AND TEARS

Five years ago today, I bought the saddest card in my life. I knew that it would be the last, "Happy Birthday, Mom" card that I would ever need.

By sheer will and determination my mom postponed her last day on Earth until her birthday dawned. It's difficult to fathom how much grit that it took for her to hang on until the early morning of her birthday, but she would leave her Earthly home on her own terms. In spite of her pain and weakened condition, she made sure that those who loved her wouldn't be burdened with two milestones. Her last gift to us was to wait until her birthday to let go of the pain and thus turn her birthday into the beginning of her new life.

Thanks, Mom. Know that you will always be here in our hearts. We miss you, but don't worry, because we are doing okay. You were worried about us and we'll be fine. Remember that down here time seems forever, but before you know it, we'll be together, again.