Wednesday, February 15, 2012

A REDBIRD FOR MOM


Today is my mother's birthday. She was born in 1911 on a farm in the hills of eastern Kentucky, the fourth of seven children. Mom passed away in the summer of 2005; had she lived these six-and-a-half years, she would be 101 years old today—not out of the question given her Williams bloodline, many of whom made it well past the century mark. As it was, with her medical history, it was only by God's grace, good doctors, and sheer force of an incredible will that she survived past her mid-40s.

That's one of the things Mom taught me, to never give up no matter what—that life is to be lived and appreciated, made the best of, and yes, enjoyed, in spite of pain and suffering, troubles, heartbreak, tragedy. Mom was one of God's joyful singers, who never got up a day in her life without a song in her heart…a song which soon made it to her lips. 

Countless times over the years, the first sound I heard on awakening was my mother's voice coming from the kitchen, which was located on the opposite corner of the house from my bedroom. Mom would be singing while she stirred up a pan of biscuits to go with breakfast, or she might be doing the dishes, or waiting for her coffee to perk. Mom sang when she hung wash on the lines in the back yard or worked in her many flowers. She sang when she swept the hall, vacuumed carpets, mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors, or ironed clothes. Often, when she was taking a short break to rest a few minutes in the old metal glider on the front porch, she would sing. And when she really got inspired—at least once or twice a week—she went into the guest bedroom and spent a half-hour or so accompanying herself on the ornate, ceiling-high pump organ which she'd learned to play as a little girl.

Mostly Mom sang hymns and gospel songs, which is what she and my father performed together on various radio shows over the years. But sometimes at home, especially when she was at the organ, Mom would get out her thick book of ballads, their lyrics hand-copied or typed, and sing some of the old tunes popular in her growing up, though much of it was the truly ancient music of the Appalachian hills by way of the English and Irish who settled the land, and traceable across the Atlantic and back centuries. At church or when doing radio programs, Mom played her guitar—one of two guitars Dad built. Guitars which were not only lovely and exquisitely crafted, but of tonal quality good enough that the great Merle Travis played one or the other on his show whenever my parents were in the WLW studios in Cincinnati.               

Mom also instilled in me my love of books—thanks, in part, to my own early medical issues, chiefly chronic and very serious asthma and related bronchial problems. I'm told Mom began reading to me practically at birth. She read hours at a stretch. I learned to read, not in school, but sitting beside my mother in the big, padded living-room rocking chair—listening to her voice and watching the strings of letters on the pages of the book she held in her lap. Well before kindergarten age, those letters had become recognizable as words. 

Because I was housebound for much of my early life, reading was my only escape. Every week, Mom would board the electric trolly, whose route and overhead lines passed by the end of the street, and ride six miles to the big library downtown. There she would fill two shopping bags with books and return home. She did this for years.

It is through Mom that I regularly recognize the way I look and experience so many things. Dad was logical, practical, college educated and grounded; an intellectual force and steady as a rock. Mom was emotional, filled with fun and life and no small amount of mischief. She loved flowers and birds, trees and leaves and seasons, old tales, sea shells, practical jokes…family. And work. Mom truly loved working, being busy. And she loved giving and sharing and caring. Not that my father didn't, or wasn't the kindest, most generous man I've even known; but Mom is the one who'd bake a pie for a neighbor on a whim, or sit by the bedside of whoever was sick. She would feed stray dogs and cats, and the occasional hobo. Mom simply loved to feed folks—and once fed, they were apt to return for a repeat on a regular basis.

Mom lived and loved from her heart, with all her heart.  

I miss my mother—especially today, on her birthday, though there's not a day goes by when I don't think about her and wish we could sit on the deck together, watch the river and birds, tell some of the old stories once again. I'd like to serve her a slice of my cornbread, see what she thought of it in comparison to hers. And I'd give her chocolate. I don't believe anyone has ever loved chocolate more than Mom…not even me. 

I wish I could hear my mother sing again. And pray herself to sleep every night. I miss those songs and prayers more than I can say.

Mom's favorite bird was the cardinal—though she always called them redbirds. Mom was a lot of things, but she wasn't fancy. So here's a redbird for you Mom. Happy birthday. I love you with all my heart.
———————

27 comments:

Muffy's Marks said...

What a nice tribute to your mom. I know she would have loved what you said about her. It seems to me she gave you good roots. Happy Birthday to her. Lovely picture of her favorite bird.

George said...

What a magnificent remembrance, Grizz, of a beautiful, remarkable woman. How blessed you are, not only to have had such a mother, but to carry all of these fine memories with you each day. You are one of the most centered people I've come across, my friend, and I suspect that your mother played a large part in getting you centered at an early age.

While I'm not generally nostalgic by nature, reading your mother's story left me with a rather sad feeling that our parents' generation probably did a better job than our own in preparing us for the world—reminding us of the challenges to come, but never letting us leave the room without a song in our hearts. Whatever the case, your post will reverberate in the hearts of those who read it, and in small but significant ways, your mother will continue to influence the lives of those who remain on this earthly plane.

Rowan said...

What a lovely birthday tribute to your Mom, she sounds like a lady I would have liked a lot.In fact she sounds like a lady that everyone would have liked. Happy Birthday to her and Happy Memories to you:)

KathyB. said...

This is a beautiful tribute to a wonderful mother, and also, a woman to be praised, as you have here. You are so blessed to have had such a mother, I am a little envious here, but one thing is for sure, we need the example of women like your Mother to show us HOW to be good Moms.Thank-you.

The cardinal is a beautiful bird I love, but have only seen when I lived in Virginia, we do not have them here in the Pacific Northwest.

Wanda..... said...

Perfectly lovely memories!

Grizz………… said...

Muffy's Marks…

Thank you. I don't know what my mother would have made of the post—yes, she would have loved the birthday wishes, but would likely have been embarrassed by much of what I said, think I was making way too much fuss of common decent behavior. She wouldn't have believed, ever, that she was special. She and Dad did give me good roots—wonderful roots—though it took me years to realize how blessed I was by that, or how unusual my parents and family, in their closeness and love of one another, really was. She would indeed have loved the redbird picture.

Grizz………… said...

George…

I hope my post turned out okay—I began it yesterday morning, but had barely finished the first paragraph before Myladylove woke up sick, with what appears to be the flu (we've both had flu shots months ago) and so I spent the day taking care of her. It wasn't until late that I got back to my desk and just hurriedly finished. It seemed like I spent too much time on a few points and didn't get around to saying so many of the things I'd planned.

But Mom was indeed remarkable. It's funny, I can clearly see the different influences from each parent on my own life and behavior. In many ways they were different, Mom and Dad—but in others they were perfectly aligned, and all the stronger for it. Each in their own way shaped me, though, and I think I really got the best all around.

Because of my early medical problems, and the fact that I hardly ever managed more than two days of school in a row for the first eight grades or so, Mom cared for me on a daily basis much of the time—especially the earlier years. No question she was a huge source of my self-awareness and image, but this is also one of those areas in which Mom and Dad were like two peas in a pod—both were on the same page, and what they gave me has been both homing point and safe anchor throughout my life. No matter how far I've gotten astray over the years—and I've done so more times than I care to admit—that light of my early home has drawn me back again and again. I wouldn't trade that for all the riches of the world.

Mom taught me that it's the simple things that matter, that beauty is everywhere, that joy is ours for the claiming. She understood that life is a process, a journey, not always easy, not always what we expect…but that no matter what we face, we have choices; we can't always change the circumstances, but we can always change our attitude. Mom was the purest, most open and love-filled person I've ever known. I believe her very cells, right down to her DNA, were programed and stuffed to overflowing with joy. And she lived every day like a bright-burning light.

Grizz………… said...

Rowan…

Thank you. And I'm sure you would have liked my mother…everyone did. I can't tell you how many times folks in grocery stores, hospitals, churches, wherever, would come up and begin telling me how much they liked Mom. I'd have friends over and in minutes they'd be talking and laughing with my mother as if they'd know each other for years. I took here to interviews and editorial offices and all sorts of businesses connected with my work, and everyone fell in love with Mom, and usually badgered me ever after about bringing her around again—or they would come to my house and insist we went over to Mom's just so they could say hello, which invariably turned into an hour's gabfest and likely a meal.

Yep, you'd have gotten a kick out of Mom, and you could have traded plant and flower talk, local names and mythologies, gardening tips, etc. for hours.

Grizz………… said...

KathyB.…

Thank you. You're right, I was so wonderfully blessed to have the mother I did—and she was indeed remarkable. Honestly, her parents were exactly the same, as were her siblings, though I'd say Mom was the most outward and open in the way she lived and thought…always purely from her heart. It was like God knew I was going to be one of those who required the strongest guidance, and gave me the best set of parents He had.

And Mom is all the more unusual in that she had so many hardships and sicknesses during her life; anyone can be up and filled with love and joy when things are going great, but when life goes off the cliff, days turn dark as night, and hope seems hopeless—that's when the true mettle of the person shows through. One of these days I'll write some of that up re. Mom.

Again, thank you for your nice comments.

Grizz………… said...

Wanda…

Thank you. My memories of Mom are like a treasure trove…and there's not a day goes by that I fail to find the blessings and joys in what she taught.

Gail said...

Dear Grizz - I am moved to tears by your beautiful memories and tribute to your Mom. I love every word you wrote - I could see and feel it all so deeply. I am overwhelmed in the best of ways. Especially now as I pray hard for my own Mom - now back in the hospital in a fragile state as she meets her health challenges bravely.
I really love your tribute and today I celebrate every moment of your Mom's life and all she was to you and so many. Happy Birthday
Love Gail
peace.....

Grizz………… said...

Gail…

Thank you for your lovely words and friendship. Please know that I will be praying for your dear mother, as well as you and your family. Let me know how things go. Again, my dear friend, thank you.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Oh yes Grizz - one always misses one's mother - even long after she is gone. I miss mine and she died thirty years ago.
Like yours, my mum had a fine voice as did my dad and they would sing together. I would accompany them on the piano.
A lovely tribute to your mother.

Grizz………… said...

Weaver…

Yes, I know what you mean about missing a parent no matter how long the time. My father died in 1983, so almost 29 years ago—and I miss him as much today as ever. You just never get over it…and I wouldn't want to, even if given the choice. I think the joy in certain moments is knowing they can never come again, and people often play the main part in those most special moments.

I didn't know you played piano. I play, also, though not a well as I once did. Hope you got your Aga fixed.

KGMom said...

Scribe--such a loving heart-felt tribute. I suspect that your mother took as much joy in you as you hold her fond in your memory.
I know what you mean about missing your mother--mine has been gone longer than 6 1/2 years.
And, I note that your mother's birthday is very near mine. February babies are the best (in my own selfish opinion).

Grizz………… said...

KGMom…

Thank you, and yes, Mom loved and mothered me, and was proud of everything I did, until the day she died. Even though I often didn't deserve such regard. Unconditional love. Mother's love. She didn't accept me doing wrong, wouldn't accept bad behavior…but she still found pride in me, as her son, and still let me know that no matter what, I was loved and would always be loved. That was really something.

Mom was born in February, Dad in April, my birthday is in May. I have to cast my vote for May, if only because it's better fishing weather.

Robin said...

A wonderful piece of writing... so well done that I seem to feel her presence.

My friend Reva, is from the mountains of Appalachia. She drives so often out of Chicago, to that mountain in Ky., where she battles coal trucks to get to her mothers house.

Some loveliness comes from those mountains and I think your mother must have been one of the best.

My grandmother, too, loved Cardinals and called them Redbirds and because of that, I know their song like my own voice. And I hear Her voice every time a Cardinal sings....... "Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!".

Thank God for your parents... your mother and her gifts. These years later, we have you.

Grizz………… said...

Robin…

"Some loveliness comes from those mountains."

In that, you have quite wonderfully pointed out and phrased a unique trait which so many of the women who grow up in the rugged and storied hill-country of eastern Kentucky seem to possess. Indeed, it does, an innate and inexplicable beauty, inside and out, that's noticed in a deep, quiet grace. It is as if the land were within, a part of them—which I believe is the fact. They may leave their mountain homes…yet the mountains never leave them, but are carried inside, as a component of their soul, a lodestone which guides the compass of their heart.

I love the old names for birds and flowers—partly, I imagine, because of my mother. They are often descriptive, quirky, humorous, or beautiful, and even when they're rather plain, they almost always capture a prominent aspect of what they're describing perfectly. A case in point: redbird.

I understand the need for exactitude and Latin names in science; I also understand the need for a "standardized" common name. But I do think we get too full of ourselves in this sometimes and find all the officiousness a bit weary. Come on, do I really need to say it's an American robin in my side yard? Could someone mistakenly think I'm talking about a European robin? In Ohio? How many European robins have been spotted flapping around the Buckeye State over the decades? Okay, so do I need to call it a Northern mockingbird just so folk won't get it confused with a Southern mockingbird? What's wrong with plain old mockingbird?

No, this strikes me as pretentious when it comes to a standard name, and in so many regions, even the standard name is not the common name. The upshot of this is that I notice more and more how those who employ a common name (or nowadays even a less than full standard name) are viewed as rather less educated, possibly of lower I.Q., and certainly inferior to those who fill their mouthes with the complete appellation of official syllables. Of course, being the lifelong upstream swimmer, the first thing I do whenever I'm around such folks is leave off all the unnecessary prefix names and immediately begin employing my favorite common name, often with a goofy "duhh" at the start, just to get everyone in the mood, and some twangy dialect to make it sell. As in, "Duhh…did ya'll see that there ol' bog pumper a'standin' near them shin-tangles near yonder swamp?"

But…I digress. Mom used the old names for flowers and birds. And like you, whenever I hear a redbird sing, it sings to me: "Pretty, pretty, pretty…wet too, wet too, wet too!"

Robin said...

Duh... you've made me laugh.

I'm able to change my 'language' as well, usually with the 'good ole' boys' that visit work and call themselves my corporate leaders.

I love the latin names (would love to learn latin), but the old appellations of nature, born on the lips in some nearly uninhabited area give greater meaning to the word... A richness, and tells you something about the person using it.

For example, people come into the garden center wanting a particular houseplant. They start by saying it's long and sharp and pointed and that their grandmother always had one and it would never die. Sometimes I'll let them go on for a while (knowing what it is). Eventually they will say she called it something like Mother-in-laws-tongue and I'll say, 'Well, of course. It's right over here.' Beats hell out of it's 'official' name... Sansevieria.

If it's a younger person showing interest, I will tell them the name and watch them smile.

Robin said...

I hit publish before I meant to. Just wanted to add that any time you want to tell us what your Mom called this and that.... I'd love to learn it.

Grizz………… said...

RobinX2…

I love it that you, too, occasionally go into Doofus Mode as a form of camouflage. It is a quite valuable tool, both defensively and offensively…not to mention great fun.

Mom always called Sansevieria snake plant; don't think I ever heard the name mother-in-law tongue. Neat plants, however, whatever you call them—hardy, and will live forever with minimal care.

Plants, especially flowers, wild natives and garden species, were where Mom was most likely to employ one of the old names. With birds, she pretty much used the standard common names for most. Besides redbird, she knew the yellow-billed cuckoo as a rain crow, and she probably called a common nighthawk a bullbat, as that's what her father, my Grandpa Williams, called them. (BTW, I love both of these alternate common names.) Snow buntings were snowbirds, though maybe she also called juncos snowbirds, as well. Oh, and hoot owl for barred owl. There might have been a few others, and one of these days I'll go down the list bird-by-bird and see if I can remember any more.

As for plant names, I'm ashamed to say I don't know many off the top of my head. I wasn't into plants and flowers much growing up, and so paid little attention. Dad was a top-notch botanist, had minored in botany in college. Though Mom never went to college—or more than a year of what could be considered high school—she attended most of Dad's college classes (they we already married when my father attended Morehead State University) and did all his field work together—both being lifelong avid botanizers. Mom and Dad both interchangeably employed old mountain names and the then standard field names for various native plants. They did the same on garden plants. Nowadays, while I remember many of the names they used, I don't necessarily connect them with the plant—so it's often when I'm researching a plant—maybe thinking about putting it out in my own garden, or wondering if it's edible as a spring potherb—that I'll come across a list of older names and think…ahh, that's what Mom was referring to when she talked about gathering some shawnee for her mixed greens.

I like know a lot of the Latin names for some things, too. But the only area where I'm fairly proficient is in aquatic insects, particularly mayflies, less so caddis, stoneflies, midges, etc. That, of course, comes from decades of rambling around trout streams and tying flies to imitate their local favorite foods. Some of those Latin monickers simply roll like honey off the tongue: Ephemerella subvaria (the imitation is called a Hendrickson); Hexagenia limbata (Giant Michigan Mayfly, or simply Hex); Isonychia bicolor (White-Gloved Howdy.) Beautiful names, beautiful insects.

Loren said...

Love the beautiful simplicity of the title and the picture.

The Solitary Walker said...

My mum's birthday yesterday, the 18th, Grizz. God bless you for this post, and God bless all our mothers, everywhere.

Grizz………… said...

Loren…

Thank you. That was exactly my aim, in befitting Mom, was to keep title and photo plain and simple.

Grizz………… said...

Solitary…

I had no idea their birthdays were so close…but yes, God bless mothers—yours, mine, and everywhere. They go too unsung, but their lives and influence are immeasurable. Thank you for your nice words.

Jenn Jilks said...

A beautiful legacy your mom has left in you!
cheers

Grizz………… said...

Jenn…

Mom was quite special, and I was so wonderfully blessed…I know that now. I miss her every day. Thank you.