I will say that computers certainly have minds of their own and, very often, those minds do not agree with the commands we enter. But, as Sophia Petrillo used to say, "I digress."
I want to post a few lines today about my mother. She has been gone two years now, and it seems like yesterday. Some part of me that is hidden way back there in the back of my mind, tells me that she is still sitting at The Elms in Macomb, and that I can pick up the phone and call her. I know better, but some phantom thoughts are comforting and almost rational. I do not, however, have to go far to find Mom. I look at my hands and, the older I get, the more my hands look like hers--except the ring fingers; I have Grandma Janie's ring fingers. I also hear things coming out of my mouth that sound lilke Mom. And that's okay too. I hope that some day I hear her wisdom coming out of my mouth. Some of her wisdom, I'll admit, was a bit earthy. One of her exclamations that I loved, and always secretly laughed at, was, "Well, I'll be dipped in shit!" I say secretly because the only time she said that was when she was really upset about something, and it would not have been wise or prudent to laugh then. Her wisdom was mostly homespun and self-taught, but I would put it up against any philosopher. The parts that weren't self-taught, came from Grandma and Grandpa...two more people I love, miss, and try to emulate.
Thanks for your wisdom, Mom, and for sharing your life with me. I hope that when I am gone, at least a couple of people remember me with as much love as I remember you!
Mother’s Strength
I took for granted my mother’s strength.
We all did.
She helped to farm the land and tend nature.
She carried bags of feed to the hogs and cattle,
Lifted bags of seed corn and soybeans for the planter.
Cooked meals and cared for us.
And at night, in her own way, she thanked God for
the privilege of toiling and tilling.
At the end of the day she slept in the knowledge
that she had done something of value.
For us and for herself she labored, not thinking
of any reward beyond the doing.
And then, when life should have rewarded her labor
She was struck with a disease that would wound
the very core of her being—
Weakening muscles that had strained under the
weight of life and had not softened.
They softened now, but not by her choice.
She sits and remembers the days of labor,
When life had meaning beyond the next breath, and toil
was more than rising from a chair.
And we have finally learned the source of her strength.
It never came from the hours of manual labor.
It was always from within.
--Randy L. DeJaynes, 2010
