Spinning Yarn While Unravelling Memories

A Film Of How It Was And How It Is

She was a pint sized cutie with hair the color of fine wood. Almost mahogany mixed with walnut. So dark but still able to make room for light and her eyes painted from the same hue.

She came into the world so loved but perhaps didn't know it. I think she was born with fear. Fear of being alone and of not having her needs met. It may be that she sacrificed her own wants and needs to create the security she rightfully craved.

Looking back it seems so clear. It's almost like having a movie play out the past right before your eyes. A new movie is in town and you've been
given a special pass. You're the guest of honor. You smile at the parts showing the little girl sleep-overs, the Halloween/Birthday Parties and the funny little outfits so carefully sewn for 4-H Contests. You remember the little desserts painstakingly concocted by an eight year old in her Mommy's apron.

Barely tall enough to reach the sink, the scenes play on and there are smiles, giggles and so much sweetness and love.


Then someone plays a cruel trick. A mad editor has spliced someone elses home life into her precious past.

There are glimpses of frowns, of worry and the shame felt by a mother for sending children forced to walk blocks with a small red wagon filled with coke bottles to sell and watching those children shop from a grocery list hoping to have made enough from the sale of the bottles to buy Kool Aid, dry beans and perhaps a package of cigarettes for their Ma.

Who was that woman and why could she not find the strength needed to restore the smiles. What was there that always made her think that one day it would all be good again. When nothing changes then nothing changes. Why could she not know that?

The movie continues and new characters appear. New plots are introduced. There is shame in the home. Darkness. Somewhere between giggles, snuggles and warmth the doors have been left opened and a chill enters. There is pain, tears, and hurts that a band aid won't cure.

Trust is gone. The woman no longer believes. She almost cannot care. She doesn't feel. Someone has stolen her hope and dreams.

She must put the love aside. For awhile. She doesn't discard it but for a time she isn't able to use it right. It will take a long, long time to re-learn, for her to know that God is the only one who can help and to reach out and claim the strength needed to make the changes. To learn not to forget but to put the love where it belongs. Before her part ends she finally begins to get it and is able to know. All the reasons are being made clear and as a good movie should, this one has surprises. There are twists and turns but those who have sought have been granted the wisdom needed to wrap the story line and exit gracefully. The loose ends are neatly clipped and edited and there comes understanding and acceptance as the final curtain comes down. Grace has arrived. The ending is as happy as it is entitled to be. And more.

The End

Sleepytyme Babes... both big and small

Posy Pickin' can nere bout plumb tucker a little gal out

Monday night football held absolutely no charm for Lucille. She much preferred going to her boudoir with a good book

"Sit up, Savannah, You'll not retire until Ariel finishes her Sonata"

Mommy was such an angel and always knew just what to say

Harriett was an early riser always busy, busy, busy doing for others

Roses always brought Ursula dreams of the American

Taking her hair down for the evening was a lengthy process for Emily Margarette

No...no..I'm not a bit sleepy. Just resting my eyes a bit

Oui Mama, 'twas just a wee yawn and one I covered with my fingertips

Dreaming of sweetness, sugar and spice would help keep this tyke lovely and nice

No I'm not afraid I'll miss something

You can turn out the light now. I'm not afraid and alone

Yes, Darling. I know you're a big girl now, but big girls can fall hard you know

Agatha Edison, youngest daughter of the very young Thomas

Now I lay me down to sleep and I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Whee.........it's OK they're not too wet. I'm happy. It's a new day

No Mum, it was not I who got in your lipcolors

He ain't heavy.........he's my brother

Hope everyone slept well last night.

Now it's a new day so let's all go and make some memories and save a little time for art too!

Arty Hugs, Mollye

My Mammy,,,my bittersweet mammy

Slight in stature, standing shy of five foot but a sharper tongue and more piercing eyes none knew other than my great grandmother named "Mammy". She was the mother to my mother's father. And was known as Mammy to all. A snuff dipper and a snuff spitter. A more rank and rancid smell I've never known.
I remember her only through a child's eyes from the age five until she died when I was nine. Memories which still fester.
Until I grew up which was only a few years ago, I was resigned to the fact that she did not like me much less have a love for me. Maybe she did and maybe she didn't but I felt she loved my little brother Freddy more. She rocked and crooned to him from her old smelly rocker that he was a good little boy. Mammy's good little boy. She kissed him too and I remember watching to see if the ever present brown streaks of both sides of her mouth from the snuff would rub off on him, but they didn't.
Mammy's boy got to sleep in his own little bed and his sister had to sleep with Mammy. I hated bedtimes and hated waking up even more. She smelled of snuff and I smelled of pee when morning came. Pee and wet feathers. The bed was old and big and the mattress stuffed with goose feathers, probably chicken feathers too. The place in the mattress that held her tiny old body was a perfectly formed mold of Mammy's backside. She was either too lazy or simply unable to get up at night and go to the toilet and she'd call for Anne, her daughter to come get her. Most nights Anne did not hear her so Mammy did the only thing she could.
The soap and hot water scrubbings took the smell from my skin but to this day have been unable to remove the smells from my soul. I hated going to school for fear the kids would turn their noses up to me. Of course they did that anyway, but now I believe it was because they saw me as a snotty kid which probably came from my aloof and fearful nature. Things so complicated as youngins and so understood as we age.
I also hated her for loving only Freddie. The meaner I was to her the more she loved him and the more she loved him the meaner I was to her. I came home from school one day and was told she had died. I would soon have a bed of my own.
Sometimes today I wish she was here. Maybe I could hold her in my rocker and comb her long thin white hair. I would croon to her "My Mammy".
We could eat vanilla ice cream and Hershey bars which she loved and I wouldn't force Cod Liver Oil down her throat like she did to me. Heck, I wouldn't even pee on her at night. She'd be about a hundred and thirty now. I think she might like me today.

Where he's from.....

He's from an old tree shaded home filled with books and a pocketfull of memories and hearing someone shout "Quit that"! An older brother named Bryan and the taste of his Momma's hot corn bread and turnip greens.

A place where old people stared down from pictures on the walls. His mind sees today the squirrels running to and away from him and Gary his next oldest brother as they try hard to behave and the memories of his Momma's chicken and dumplings.

From a place of old dogs, boyhood friends and fresh from the garden sliced tomatoes. His kind heart still hurts from being called a little S.O.B. and he's from the place of remembering a much older brother named Doug who never lived with him but came home for visits while on leave from the Marines. From a place of grieving over the death of his sister and her son who was his closest friend.

To put to rest and in the past are the many times he was told, "You ain't worth two cents" and "You ain't worth the powder to blow you to hell and back". Gone are all the old trucks, the horses and stables and his Daddy.
He's from the place where then and today he can proudly still own a gun.

Alive today and with joy are his memories of teapots and his Momma. Her pride in the little garden and the meals she lovingly made. Homemade biscuits like none other; fig jam and fresh yard eggs.
He's from the same place we choose to make our home today. He's from a place where today he knows Jesus loves him because his Momma first told him so. Today he loves Jesus and he loves that same home.

And where she's from...

We had several years ago gone back to the place in Arkansas for a family reunion where I'd grown up. A place where I took my first steps, fell in love for the first time when I looked into the face of my Mother. Where I met my little baby brother and where I formed other relationships and made friends. I learned acceptance and I learned rejection. A place where my mind was opened to learning, to art and music appreciation. I grew here and I grew up here. I knew security and stability.
Many years would pass before I would again know the feelings that having a home would bring.
I looked and I searched and so very many times I pretended. I longed to give those feelings to my children. The people were all in place but the walls were not. Was it just the walls which made that a home? No I think that as a child it was the thread. The knot always stayed knotted, sometimes fraying but never coming undone. My adult life was full of unraveling and loose ends. They just didn't make thread the same as they used to. It looked the same and even better. It promised to do the same, to perform as well, but somehow it was just a cheap imitation.
I was surprised to find that the house was still standing. It had shrunk and it was old, showing signs of neglect and decay. The people were all different. There seemed to be someone living there with a handicap as a ramp had been constructed next to the little side porch where I used to happily sit for hours and play jacks.
I found something there that day. I found the memories I had burried and was able to dig them up and place them back in my heart. A place to keep them safe and private to be taken out and re-visited time and again.
The memories...they were the thread. The thread is still strong and I can mend with that thread until my days are over. I can teach with that thread and I can spread joy and love with that thread.
I am grateful to have another home today. It was a long time coming. I like to think of it as A Tale Of Two Homes; one I came into and one I will leave from. Stopping off houses until I go to my home where no thread can break and no lease can ever expire.

And where they are now

~My Punkin Darlin and his Miz Mollye~

It took every one of life's steps for each of us to find the other
We're Finally Home
and
God is Good