My husband seems to think that I should be writing something every day. He keeps telling me that I have stories to tell. Sure…I have something to say, I always have. Maybe not actual stories, but I do have something to say. As a matter of fact, I kinda think I have too much to say! I’ve always been a very “wordy” person. Sometimes I think my whole family dreads me starting to say something. It’s not that they dread what I will say, but just how long it will take me to get the story completely out of my mouth or get my point across. I’ve heard recently that the so called experts have determined that women use about 20,000 words a day, while men use about 7,000. Can that possibly be true?

I discovered something for myself many years ago before I met my husband. I was around 25 years old and it hit me like a ton of bricks that people pretty much enjoy a conversation with me as long as I ask them questions about something in which they are interested. Don’t spend much time on talking about what you like. Be interested in the other person and care about their interests. When I was single, this worked really well when talking with guys. Just ask them about squirrel camp, deer season or that new ATV they just bought. Watch their eyes light up! Men don’t like drama and I don’t think they like flowery conversation too much either.

It’s funny because I honestly fell in love with my husband from “just talking to him”. I told my best friend that I was in love with this guy before I even had my first date with him. So, love at first sight or first conversation is a possibility. Back in the day, the people my age would meet up in the parking lot of a locally owned pharmacy. All of us knew the pharmacist/owner and he allowed us to hang out there at night as long as we didn’t leave trash laying around or tear up any of his property. Anyway, my future husband came up to the parking lot and we began to talk. I guess it was chemistry or, as we believe, God working in our lives, but I felt so comfortable talking with him. If you were to ask me now, 33 years later, what our conversations were about, I probably couldn’t remember more than four of them. All I know, and remember is that he was so wonderful…smart, cute, and articulate. When I talked with him, I didn’t have to pretend I was something or someone other than just plain ole me. I always say talking with him was kinda like that feeling you get when you come home from a hard day of work and slip on a comfortable pair of shoes that are so worn, but make you feel so good and relaxed. My husband says he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, being compared to a comfortable pair of shoes, but you get the idea.

To this day, I’m talking, talking, and doing some more talking. My husband takes a little while to get fully engaged first thing in the morning, but not me. I hit the floor talking. After all, I’ve got to use all those 20,000 words before I get into bed tonight!

 

The beginning of June always brings me to thoughts of family members’ birthdays. My Mom, who is still going strong at 83, will celebrate her 84th birthday on June 26th. She has always been such a strong and determined woman.

She grew up the daughter of a farmer, who also ran a saw mill, and a country store at one time. She told me about working with her mom cooking lunch each day for her father, brothers, and the farm hands. One day my Mom might be cooking in the kitchen and the next day, out in the field on a tractor helping break up the land for planting.

When my Mom was 12 years old, she had a life threatening accident on the farm. My Mom’s brother was breaking up some land to plant and he was having trouble getting the plow to go deep enough into the soil. My uncle placed a board across the plow and got my Mom to sit on the board to weigh the plow down as he drove the tractor, breaking up the ground. They were going up and down the field, and at one point, the plow bounced and threw my Mom off and she fell onto the breaking plow. The plow actually cut one of the main arteries on the inside of her leg. Blood gushed everywhere, but my uncle had enough sense about him at that terrifying moment to take the string from my Mom’s straw hat and tie off the artery, stopping the bleeding. My grandfather rushed my Mom to the doctor where she was stitched up and put into a leg brace for many months. The family didn’t know whether or not Mom would walk again, but she did.

My Mom never slowed down in her efforts to help her dad and two brothers on the farm. She was also very busy helping my grandmother with the cooking, gardening, canning, sewing or anything else that needed to be done. Back in my Mom’s day, many women went into the fields working just as hard as the men did, and that was my Mom. I’ve heard so many stories about her helping her brothers move farm equipment from one field to another. My uncles often called on my Mom to help move their tractors or big two ton trucks from one place to another since she could drive a manual transmission.

Growing up I thought, and still do, that my Mom was Superwoman! Some of my earliest memories were of my Mom and grandmother having a huge garden. The garden was always located at my grandmother’s just down the road. My brother and I would spend most summer days down at Granny’s, playing in the yard, or “trying” to shell as many peas or butter beans as my Mom and grandmother. After shelling all those peas, we would take the pea hulls down to the barn lot and throw them over the fence for the cows to eat. My Mom was always in the garden raising peas, butter beans, tomatoes, corn, and probably other vegetables I don’t remember. If she wasn’t in the garden, she was canning the vegetables, or preparing them for the freezer. And, she has always been an amazing cook. To this day, my family looks forward to the dishes she prepares for our annual Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.

When I was a small child, my Mom picked cotton from the fields that my uncle had planted. As a matter of fact, she bought her first automatic washing machine with the money she made from picking cotton. My brother and I would join Mom most days in the cotton field. Sometimes my uncle’s daughter, my cousin, would join us. It’s amazing to think about how much fun we had playing in the cotton fields while my Mom was hard at work picking cotton. Mom sometimes gave my brother and me short rides on her cotton sack.  There’s no telling how many little dolls I made from unopened cotton bolls. I used cotton straight from the plant to make clothes for the dolls. My little brother was allowed to take his toy trucks to the field with him and he had a great time running his trucks along the cotton rows. My brother, cousin, and I got to “walk down the cotton” in the trailer after Mom and some of the other farm hands emptied their cotton sacks into the big trailer. This way the cotton was compressed and more cotton would fit into the trailer. We squealed with delight because this was so much fun for us. No trampoline for us back then. Late in the cotton picking season my Mom would “pull cotton”. This involved pulling the dried cotton bolls, with whatever cotton was left, off the stalks. Mom wore work gloves to pull cotton. In order to pull cotton bolls quickly, she would cut the finger tips off the gloves, but left the rest of the gloves to protect the palms and backs of her hands.

My Mom was a terrific seamstress. Maybe I’ll post some of the old photos of the dresses she made for me. I still look back in awe of some of the cute Easter dresses she made me. She also made me purses and hats, just like many other little girls wore growing up in the 1950s and 1960s. She also made my cheerleading outfits that I wore for grammar school basketball games.  When I started high school in 1969, I was always wearing dresses she had made for me. My Mom even sewed many little outfits for my sons who grew up in the 1980s. She made beautiful quilts by hand, as well.

The talent my Mom enjoys the most is her voice. She loves to sing. She worships her Lord by singing, and feels so blessed to have been given this talent. Mom has sung in our church choir for as long as I can remember. She’ll be 84 and still looks forward to choir practice on Wednesday nights and singing in the choir on Sundays. I really believe that is one thing in her life that keeps her going, her love of singing and the love she has for her Lord.

Happy 84th birthday, Mom! I love you more than you will ever know. You’re my Superwoman!