Mosaics

Saturday, July 16, 2005

Childhood Memory of Ma's Garden

Plucking Beans

The scent of a hot dusty day, accented by the steady buzzing of cicada's and crickets singing praises to the heat.

Rustling around the leaves of a plant, my fingers wrap around the top of a green bean. With a firm *snap!* if comes off clean from the stem. I drop the bean into the old Kemps Ice Cream bucket and adjust myself to relieve the pressure of the hard soil digging into my knees and shins.

With another *snap!* I break away the next green bean, but not so cleanly, for dampness moistens my finger tips. I feel the fuzzy skin, pop the bean to my mouth, and crunch down on it. Juice and crunch. This is how green tastes.

The sun beats down on arms and back, sweat making me itch. I have to bat at the mosquitos and hear a familiar drone. But the sound isn't from the mosquitos. No, the drone is coming from the motorcycle of my brother's curly dark haired friend, Pat, coming up the gravel driveway.

Now what's that sound?
Oh.
It's the beating of my 13 year old heart.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Up On A Roof

There's a sort of intimacy that comes with sitting up on a roof with someone, or even alone, especially at night.

Maybe it's because it is something that you're really not supposed to be doing ( a slight danger exists...or in some cases a real danger, but I am not refering to those), but it isn't really wrong. Unless you are a child and momma told you 'don't do that'.

I remember as a teen going over to my best friend Stephanie's house and sitting on her roof. They had a Tudor in South Minneapolis, just north of Minnehaha Falls, and Steph's room was on the upper level. Though the roof was somewhat steep, it did not seem dangerous as there were 'outcroppings' and window alcoves here and there that made it (fairly) secure. Well, maybe as a mother, if I drove passed the place now and looked I would change my mind about the danger status. But what is danger to a teen?

Steph and I would sit out there despite the skeets, howl at the moon, talk about boys (her boyfriends, I had none really at that time), family, and our personal beliefs about various topics. Those are precious memories to me now. Thinking back on them, I realize I miss her. But ah well, time changes things and we go on.

So now instead of sitting on rooftops with friends (most people over 30 tend to shy from rooftops I have found), I am sitting on rooftops with my young adult daughter, and discovering that she is becoming my friend. Now that she is older I can allow that, I guess.

I remember walking with her on the sidewalk by our bungalow, hands joined and swinging, when she was 5 or 6, and she said "Mom, You're my friend! You and me are Friends!"
I paused, I was so happy to hear this because I knew what it meant to her, and I was complimented. But I knew I needed to teach her that Moms were moms, and friends were friends, and that there was a difference to a child her age. (Now remember this was the late 1980's when a lot of people treated their children as young adults, and I did not believe that was wise).

So I replied "Well Jenni, I am your Mom. And I love you, but I am not really a friend. When you are older, we can be more like friends. But for now, you need me to be your Mom. And I will always be your Mom, which is better then a friend. Do you understand?
She seemed kinda sad, and said "but we're friends too aren't we?"
"Well sort of honey, for that's all part of being a Mom. But for now it's more important that I be your Mom. Being your Mom is even more special then being your friend. "
"Can we be friends when I'm bigger?"
"Yes. When you are bigger, then we can be Friends."
Then she was happy again.

I remember this very well. We were on the side of the house, just north of the beautiful elm with the large canopy that covered the backyard. I remember how big she was next to me, her hair still blonde, she was wearing a striped short sleeved top. I can see her face turned up to me. Life was already giving her hard knocks. She had seen and heard things children should never have to see or hear. But she was strong, even then, and she meant everything in the world to me. I wanted to protect her the best I could.

My little girl.
All grown up.

Now I sit on rooftops with her and watch all the 4th of July fireworks of the metropolitan area in constant explosions on the horizon. Not many words are shared.
But there is an intimacy.
And I want to say "You're my friend Jenni! You and me are friends!"
But I don't think she will remember or know what I am referring to.
And that sorta makes me sad.

And that is how I will always be her Mom first. For a mother's heart holds these things close and never forgets, even when the mind does, but a child does not remember.

It is the way it should be.