lately (when do i not) i have been thinking of my mother, her mother, and her mother before her. remembering the stories of what they did with their day. what did they cook for dinner? how did they sort their laundry? did they like a cold coke on a hot day? what kind of disciplinarians where they? what was their relationship with our Heavenly Father? where they proud of me? did they know just how desperately i loved them?
those 3 very different woman taught me how to be my own woman. i watched as they raised their children, cooked their meals, prayed, sang, and laughed. i learned to say please and thank you, to put my napkin in my lap, to cook a roast, to smile....to love. my mother told me at least one thing she remembered from times gone by every day of her life. i can see my grandmother have mother take down the wash she hung on the line and do it properly....her way. never do i hang laundry, that i don't think of that....and hang it as Ola Mae Fortenberry did. if i think long enough about my great grandmother's, Nadine Fithugh Fortenberry, creamed corn i can smell it. almost everything they ate came from her garden. she is always with me in my own garden. as is my sweet mother who taught me how to raise an organic garden. she taught me that it was important to breast feed and even more important to enjoy being a mother. she was a southern belle always with her red nail enamel, alligator handbag, and ready to chat with whomever wanted one. her example was the greatest teacher i ever had. reading....every Sunday was a marathon little golden book day. cooking....everything from scratch and full of love never being afraid to try something new. gardening....the value of organic fertilizers and the taste of an heirloom tomato. spirituality....faith above all else. compassion....a pot of soup or a cake to show someone you are there while you silently pray for them.
this long line of strong yet gentile southern woman i come from is a sense of pride for me. may i carry on the legacy.