Broken Clothespins

Lin challenged us to write a blog about thanking someone a couple of posts ago. It takes me awhile to get my heels to click. I've been cooking at a very low temperature for a while now.

I thought about it, though... and I decided to share some of my favorite mommie stories. My mother was a woman who's gratitude for life was so complete that it exuded from her every pour. Truly, flowers grew wherever she shed her skin.

Two examples:

As an adolescent teetering on the brink of being a teenager and delirious with the heady nectar of youth, I was totally unaware of my surroundings. Usually caught up in stories that lived in my head, I paid little attention to what was going on around me. But, I used to enjoy sitting in the avocado tree watching my mother constantly carry on conversations with the clouds while she was working on something outside.

One especially cheery summer day she was hanging clothes on the line above a patch of flagstone and dichondra grass. She was whispering to the sheets, and singing to the rosebushes, and generally twittering with gaiety to whomever and whatever she believed she was keeping company with. I walked toward her trying to hear her words with greater clarity. I startled her when she turned and saw me and she literally jumped a foot from the ground. Now, my mother was 5'2" and weighed aaahh hem...more than she should have.  She lost her balance when surprised by my stealth approach on her reverie, and she stumbled.  I took her arm to steady her, and asked what she was so excited about. I'll never forget her answer. "Why, sweetie. There is so much to be grateful for this morning. Do you know I hung this entire basket of clothes and didn't find one broken clothespin in the bag?!"

I wish you were here to see me this very minute. I'm smiling so wide, my face may crack...yet there are tears forming at the corners of my eyes. This is such a vibrant memory for me. I can plainly see the apron she wore. Cotton, with tiny scarlet flowers on a field of soft yellow. Pockets of bright red tulips. It criss crossed over her back, and tied at her waist and was piped in spring green. She was wearing it over a muumuu. The day was hot... you could feel the sun hitting your skin. The moment is recorded indelibly in the crevices of my mind. It was one of the greatest teaching experiences of my life.

"Broken clothespins? You're standing out here in the heat talking to yourself about no broken clothespins?"

She took my hand and led me to a lawnchair. "No, sweetie. I'm talking to God and thanking him for this one perfect morning. Clean sheets, smelling sweet as I flick them in the air...soft grass beneath my feet... warm sunshine making my camelia's blush more beautifully every day... a daughter to sit and talk with in the shade of this avocado tree. No broken clothespins is just one more thing to feel joyful about. If you aren't able to feel joy over the littlest of things that happen each and every day... you aren't going to feel joy over anything. At least not for long. Being grateful needs to be practiced, honey. Look around you this morning and practice gratitude, Caryn.  Practice being thankful and feeling joy.  Practice stating your appreciation to the Man who blessed you with all that fills your days and your life with contentment."

I grew up a little that morning. I began to take notice of the small delicacies that God places on our plate every new day. And I began saying so, giving thanks.  

I hate to take up too much of your time, so feel free to go on to something else if you'd like... or perhaps come back later when you have a free minute and a cup of tea in your hand.

One other story about my mother being thankful and how telling someone "Thanks" can bless their day, and (possibly) come back to you ten fold.

One Christmas, she went to the United Parcel office to mail some gifts to kith and kin that couldn't be hand delivered. The lines were long. The people waiting in the long lines were becoming irritable. The workers were scurrying, doing what they could to keep everyone happy. She could feel the strain of the situation for them. They were being sniped at by several patrons who felt they'd waited too long, or the prices were too high, or the twine used by the woman weighing their packages wasn't strong enough. One worker was close to tears as my mother approached her and handed her packages over to be stamped and placed on the conveyor belt..

"Wow! You certainly know how to handle people under stress. Look at you! I think I'd have been tempted to throw one of these heavy parcels at a couple of the grumps that have walked through here and you've just remained so pleasant. Good work." The woman just stared at her, then a smile started to form as she completed the task at hand. My mom went home, packed some of her famous peanut cookies, spiced nuts, and English toffee in a LARGE box and asked me to drive her and her package of goodies to the United Parcel station. She actually waited in line again to hand them over to the fella in charge of the work crew. "I just want you to pass these out and enjoy them. You're doing a marvelous service and I thank you for doing it with such patience, grace and professionalism." The man was dumbfounded. He called to everyone, told them this woman had brought them cookies and good wishes. The whole crew laughed and applauded, the people in line behind her were smiling and the tension in the air just dissolved. It was a great time. BUT... the best part is yet to come. A day or two later, a UPS truck drove up to my mom's house and the delivery man carried a beautiful arrangement of white poinsettia's, roses, and spider mums to her door. They were from the United Parcel office. They just wanted her to know how much they appreciated her kindness. My mom loved the flowers, but just shrugged at the praise. "Viruses aren't the only things that are infectious" was her comment.

And, that's my story. Thanks for listening.