Memories for Mother’s Day

Standard

The temperamental weather at this time of year leaves us chilly one day and sweltering the next. In the garden the rhododendrons glow bright, and the roses send up tightly furled buds which will soon morph into fragrant velvet. Amongst this largesse my pansies, hard workers that have withstood frost, hail, snow and freezing rain, are withering need to be replaced.

Their demise means that the really cold days have gone, but I whisper apologies as I uproot the pansies and refill the pots with summer flowers. It is what my mother would have done.

My mother….

Easy to think of her when I am close to flowers that she loved. She was always happiest in her garden, as every season offered something beautiful. In winter there were the hardy red camellias, nandina berries and pine branches with which to make stately flower arrangements for the New Year. In earliest spring came, Japanese quince and apricots blooming white and pale pink, and the sweet pea shoots pushing bravely out of the ground. In summer, her garden rioted with color as roses and sunflowers, lilies and hydrangea vied for her attention, and the autumn brought chrysanthemums of every shape and hue.

From all of these my mother would choose blossoms for her arrangements—whispering apologies as she cut. “This flower took all year to bloom,” she would explain somewhat wistfully, “and I’m taking it indoors, away from the sun.”

Apologizing

while I cut a small bouquet

of the white roses.

My mother was a fair-minded woman who never played favorites, but she couldn’t help having a preference for the humblest flowers in her domain. Pansies, small primroses, forget-me-nots, sprays of cosmos and ox-eye daisies were closest to her heart. She even liked the gold of early dandelions and would arrange them in small, elegant vases which she tucked into unexpected places. Pansies, especially the ones with ‘faces’ would find their way onto her dresser. A single daisy might decorate the bathroom sink. “They all have stories,” she would say. “We just can’t hear them.”

I have a flower story, too.

On my eleventh birthday I woke up to a delicate, sweet fragrance. When I opened my eyes, there was a cut glass vase by my bed filled with a huge bouquet of sweet peas. Pink, white, peach, soft lavender…these flowers were for me, alone! I remember catching my breath at their beauty and the perfection of the gift.
I have long since forgotten the presents I was given that day, but the sweet peas – and my mother’s smile when she saw my pleasure— remains alive and beautiful in my memory.

In sun-splashed garden,
Feeling a remembered warmth,
The touch of her hand.

Advertisements

About Maureen C. Wartski

I’m Maureen Wartski, writer, artist, wife, mother, grandmother; you can see that I have many of the bases covered. I was born in Ashiya, Japan, a (then) small town which lay cradled between sea and mountains. In the evenings, we would walk along the road that ran past Osaka Bay, and a great moon would rise out of the water to turn the world to silver. I’m told that my first words were, “Big moon!” All my life I have felt the tug to write something, draw something, put together something with fabric, string and color, and the urge to create has grown through the years. I suppose, then, that it’s a natural thing that this blog be full of the things that so many of you enjoy doing…drawing, making something with fabric, and writing. Yuri's Brush with Magic, my newest book for middle schoolers follows the adventures of a brother and sister, the magic of words, and the incredible magic of the natural world. I'd love to hear from you! You can send me a note at: maureen@wartski.org/ My blog is here: https://maureenwartski.wordpress.com/ Or friend me on Facebook!

10 responses »

  1. Maureen, I so enjoy your literary musings with their graceful prose and haiku. I have printed out the very latest blog entries to share with our and your bookclub when I review “Yuri’s Brush With Magic” at our next meeting. It is so amazing to me how the words, images and art forms simply flow out of you in a nearly unending stream. What gifts you have! We are all so privileged to enjoy the many ways your talents find their way into our world.

    With great affection from your old friend Fran

  2. Dear Maureen,
    What a wonderful tribute to your Mother! I enjoyed reading this post. May your Mother’s love and the memory of the flowers she loved, give you peace and joy.
    Joan Y. Edwards

  3. Hi Maureen,

    Thanks for reminding me of my own favorite flower stories. I often buy my mother flowers for her yard. She prefers hers outdoors. I guess that’s one way to avoid apologies. 🙂

    Linda A.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s