Lisa-Jo has had an amazing series that just out and out shouts with celebration about mama's and their legacy - so it really isn't any surprise that for Five Minute Friday we're going to join the celebration... Head on over here to read the series and be prepared to be flung back in time...
There is something graceful about the way my mother moves. Every motion, fluid and synchronized. There is no rushing, no frenetic or frenzied gestures, just a line of undulating beauty.
This fluid gracefullness was something that would mesmerize me as a little girl when I sat on the toilet seat to watch her get ready for the day or an evening out - the way her hand held her mascara like a magic wand, the way her brush would move through her beautiful hair. It was if the bathroom had become sacred and the moment too holy for hurried.
I would watch the way that she would dance the kitchen dance as she prepared food. And she could dance this dance well. Soups and stews and hearty pots of bubbling simmering goodness - love could be tasted in every bite - even if I didn't like all of the vegetables that she cooked to perfection. And on those days that were cause for celebration she would set the table with her finest ware - not just on Sundays - and the table would beckon like a magic carpet that would whisk all of us back to memories and laughter from days gone by.
When my hurt would come - and it would come - and the tears of disappointment, bruised heart and ego would have me quaking with adolescent fury those graceful arms would wrap me close and I could hear her heart right there in my ear as the words that she murmured lulled my brokeness and my sobs.
And just last night, as I watched her sitting in her chair, her hands full of knitting and the familiar clack of needles in a rhythm that would put a metronome out of business, there was a graceful, never wasted movement. Needle in, yarn over, needle out, over and over in the same beautiful rhythm.
And from all of this, this slowing right down and welcoming the un-hurried I have learned these things: life is not always an emergency, not always urgent and pressing and immediate. That deliberate and slowing are ways to holy moments and that time spent in graceful equals time spent well.
And now that I'm older, I still sit on the toilet and watch her dressing, playing with her bottles of potions and creams. The dance in the kitchen it has become a waltz of two as we move shoulder to shoulder sharing a chore and a passion for food prepared with love. And those hurts they still come to my own mama heart and those graceful arms are still there to hold me close to her heart when life presses in just a little too close.
This, this is what mama did.