Friday, August 04, 2006
A Clock for a Special Time
Hello, it's me again, Sarah Wray. First, I just want to say thank you to all of you who have been thinking about me. It's true, Simple Pleasures was struck pretty hard with all the horrible events that happened a few weeks ago. But we are making it. Thank you for your prayers.
I suppose I'm like Jake was yesterday. Feeling a little bit more serious today, due to all that's happened recently. So today I want to tell you about a special clock I have for sale in my store.
I just love clocks with personality. We have one on the wall in Simple Pleasures that makes me smile every time I see it. It's the French Sugar clock.
The little blond girl on the front of it reminds me of a picture I have of my mother when she was that age. My mother was sitting on a simple board and rope swing that hung from a tree behind the little shack of a house they lived in. Her hair was pulled up into a big bow on top just like the girl on the clock. The picture is black and white, but my mother insisted when she gave me the picture that the bow was blue.
My mother was young when I was born. She taught me to read before the other little girls could. She taught me to add when others my age were still learning to count. She seemed so energetic, always wanting to do more than there was time for. I'm sure my mom had plans that never happened. Most of us do.
We come from sturdy stock, so it surprised me when my mother became ill. The family gathered around to help keep the house running at first, but I spent as much time with her as I could. I tried to cheer her up by giving her silly gifts that I'd made. When my aunt saw my wildflowers on the nightstand by my mother's bed, she threw out the "weeds." I cried. But not in front of my mother. I had a special place behind the house for doing that.
I was at my special place when my dad came to get me one afternoon. He picked me up in his strong arms and carried me out to the woods behind the house. He walked a long time before he set me down. We sat under a tree and talked while I listened to the birds' noises above me. Then my dad began telling me how much my mother loved me. He used words like "she was" and "she used to." I saw the tears in his eyes. He reached a great big hand out to me. I climbed up to hug my dad. He couldn't say it, but I knew what had happened.
The evening after we buried my mother, everyone stayed for dinner at my house to fill me with stories about her. We laughed about the good old days and funny things she'd done. I guess they wanted to save the crying for after they left.
Most of my elders died at a ripe old age. Some of them made me wonder if they'd ever die. But not so with my mom.
This is why I smile--kind of sadly--at that clock in my store. I have plenty of good memories of my mother.
My mother--with a bright blue bow in her hair.
Thanks for telling us your story.
Thank you, Sarah, for your post today.
Links to this post:
Bailey Truitt ~ Java Joint owner
Leslie Brymes ~ reporter extraordinaire
Carla Radling ~ realtor at your service
Wilbur Hucks ~ ya gotta love him
Jake Tremaine ~ retired logger
Ted Dawson (S-Man) ~ sci-fi writer
Hank Detcher ~ pastor and friend
Janet Detcher ~ keeps Hank in line
Bev Trexel ~ retired teacher
Angie Brendt ~ Bev's best pal
Sarah Wray ~ Simple Pleasures owner
Jared Moore ~ Kanner Lake Times
LEARN MORE ABOUT KANNER LAKE
A Christian Worldview of Fiction
Mary Ann Diorio
Girl's Write Out
Joy in the Litter Box
A Life in Pages
Pieces of Me
Readin N Writin with Patricia
Robin Lee Hatcher's Write Thinking
Enter your email to subscribe
to Scenes and Beans
Powered by FeedBlitz