My Mothers House

Miss Jane and her daughter 1998, wearing our GRITS Tshirts. An acronym for; "Girls Raised in the SOUTH"

Once in a while it works out that you need someone at the same time that they need you. Last week was one of those times. I got behind the wheel and drove four hours to My MOTHERS HOUSE.

At my Mothers house,

I am always met at the car, bags are carried, hugs are in abundant supply.

Dog kisses await me at the front door.

I round the corner to the guest room where old photos have been selected for my review.

My bed is turned down, crisp clean sheets and my favorite blanket await my arrival.

At my Mothers house, 

All  my childhood favorite foods have been stocked in the little pantry.

From rye toast to liverwurst its a smorgasbord of comfort.

My tastebuds lavish in the deliciousness of evoked memories

At my mothers house is beauty

Everywhere I glance, the birds and blooms seem to be performing for me.

I drink in their beauty from her back porch. 

A cup of her delicious coffee steams in my favorite cup.

Camera in hand, I continue my ritual of trying to capture the Ruby Throated Hummingbirds (to no avail, as usual). 

This week I came to help out, two surgeries and all is well. This week my heart was hurting and I found solace in the comfort of My Mothers House.