Tracey Rempel Green sent me an email a few months ago. She told me we were related. Her grandmother and my father were sister and brother. I never met any of my dad’s six sisters, so it was wonderful to ‘meet’ a descendant of one of those women.
She wrote that she had a blog called A Great Place. In it she celebrates the wonder of the world by sharing inspirational stories. I liked that we seemed to have the same thinking about the wonderment of the world. Could it be the DNA?
She asked if I had something I’d like to share.
I’ve got a few stories/essays (okay, actually quite a few) that I’ve never pitched anywhere or done anything with, but the first one that came to mind was the story about my Mom’s hands. I posted this a few days ago on my Facebook page so my apologies if you’ve seen this already. So, this is a thank you to my cousin for asking and thanks to you for reading.
Here’s the story (the balance can be read on her blog).
My Mother’s Hands
I remember my mother.
Most especially, I remember her hands; the soft wornness of them, weathered driftwood smooth, eroded by the endless washing of dishes, socks and rags. Skin nearly translucent, stretched soft, like material that has long ago lost its cling.
Velvet and ropes. I remember the scent of Jergens, how she continually smoothed the cream into her palms and then wrung her hands together, washing in the lotion with the twists and turns of her wrists and fingers, twirling her wedding ring to include the skin covered by its band.
I remember her touch on my forehead at night, cool and strong, smoothing back my hair and reminding me, “I love you… good night.”
That same strength twisted my ear and pinched the back of my arm with such violence that tears rose instantly in my eyes though my voice remained silent…church was no place for crying. Read more….
What a wonderful story that brings back so many memories of some of the women in my family. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thanks Carol Ann. I’m so glad. It’s funny how someone’s remembrance can trigger our own. That is one of the fabulous benefits about sharing our stories 🙂
Wonderful memoir, Colleen. Not just a portrait of a person and a family but of a time and of Canada, too. You’ve reminded me of the Royal Albert, the cherry-almond scent of Jergens, fewer – and non-disposable – clothes drying on a twirling laundry rack-pole outside the kitchen window.
Lesley, thank you for your insight. I hadn’t stepped back from it enough to see that it is not only about the particular time in my life, but in Canada. Thank you for providing that context. I find that very helpful as I am continuing to write these stories.
Isn’t it true about the clothes? Now some of my biggest material issues are about closet and storage space and how to deal with all my clothes and stuff. I don’t want to romanticize the past at all (because a lot of it is SO not romantic) but we definitely had enough and it was a whole lot less than now.
Beautiful Colleen:
That was a beautiful story about your mother.
The DNA can’t lie, as we get older particularly, there
is glimses and moments of our mom’s creeping in to
our daily lives and rituals. I lost my mom a couple of
years ago, and we were very close. I still talk with her
when I am working things through, even pouring her
a glass of wine too! Which I eventually drink as well LOL
It is wonderful to remember where we came from,
and to keep the stories alive.
That is lovely that you have also found a kindred
relative, sounds like she is talented too!!
Always love your stories and reflections.
Laurie, it’s all so bittersweet isn’t it? I agree that we need to remember where we come from and tell our stories. There is so much power in those moments.
And yes, the DNA shows up and starts to glow right through us 🙂
I have a great visual of you sharing a glass with your mom. She sounds like she was a wonderful woman and I’m sure she enjoys those talks too. Thanks for sharing your story. It made me smile.