I think I'll go poke the bruise and listen to some Lady Antebellum again.
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Some of my most fond memories of my mother are of her being involved in one of her many arts and crafts hobbies. She did sketching, home décor and design, bead work, jewelry making, sewing, stained glass, painting, quilting, and crocheting just to name a few. She was good at everything she did.
Ever since I was a little girl I always wanted to crochet. It was something I grew up seeing my mother and my grandmothers do. I loved all the things they made. At one point my mother even owned a yarn and crochet shop. I would try and try. Mom tried to teach me. Both my grandmothers tried to teach me. Over the years various friends would try. But, I could never get the hang of it. I'm sure in no small part due to my lack of patience. I wanted to do it, and it be perfect... now! And art just doesn't work that way.
With the weather turning colder, my mind once again returned to thoughts of my mom and the things she would make. I was determined to learn to crochet once and for all. Its something I can do in the truck while we are moving, unlike drawing which requires the truck to be stationary due to all the bumps and such in the road. We were in the craft section and he bought me a book, a DVD, some yarn and several various sized crochet hooks. I studied the book, practiced some of the stitches. Watched several videos on how to crochet. And finally I think I have gotten the hang of it.
He's been incredibly supportive and encouraging, especially when I would get frustrated. I've actually finished a few small practice pieces and he just bought me the yarn to try to make my very first afghan. Needless to say I am incredibly excited. But there is also a part of me that is melancholy as I wish my mother were here to finally see me able to crochet. I wish there was a way to turn back the clock, or change the past, and allow me a cool afternoon of crocheting on the couch, sipping coffee, and talking with my mom as she was busy crocheting too.
Mom, I love you. And you are missed every single day.
Anxiously I peeked out and there he was, all smiling and full of energy. He came by to wish me good luck on my first day. I remember him straightening my scrub top and fixing the hem of my pants so they were properly tucked into my socks, hey it was the 90s. He made sure I had my purse, my lunch, my keys, a big hug and loving kiss, then sent me on my way.
It is now 21 years later, mornings haven't gotten any easier, and he is still always thinking of me.
This morning I woke up and the truck wasn't moving. He usually wakes up before me and drives for an hour or two before I wake up. Then we stop to get coffee or breakfast. But, this morning we were already stopped. I poked my messy bed head out of the sleeper and was greeted with "Good morning my beautiful!" A groggy, I-haven't-had-coffee-yet smile and I manage to ask why we were stopped.
There is a pass in North Carolina on I-40 heading up to Tennessee. It is a gorge that follows the Pigeon River for 20 some miles. He told me he didn't want me to miss it, so he stopped and waited so I could see it. Always thinking of me. Always taking care of me. After getting dressed and getting a hot cup of coffee, made right here in the truck, he took me on a leisurely drive through the gorge. As I sipped my coffee I got to see the mountain fall colors in all their magesty. Ambers, golds, coppers, and ruby reds, mixed in with the vibrant evergreens. It was a gorgeous morning driving through God's garden all decked out in Christmas colors.
|Morning in the mountains, 11/07/2014|
And there he sat in the driver's seat pointing trees and mountains out to me, all the while with a smile of amusement on his handsome face. The road was narrow and curvy, and there weren't any scenic pull offs to stop and take pictures. While I managed to snap a few from the moving truck, the memory of this serene mountain morning will always remain. And every day I hope I make him as happy and feel as loved as he does me.