Friday, January 9, 2009

gift from my mother

Growing up, my mom and I had a very wonderful ritual of going to art fairs and festivals together.  We've been doing it for over 12 years now and while we don't get to do it as often since I live away from her, it is one of my fondest memories and often the reason for my migration home.  My dad was allowed to come occasionally, when we thought we'd need him for funds or to carry things.  After a while though, he was dismissed and relieved of his duties, and it became my special time with Mom.  Almost every weekend in winter and early spring, we'd go to one together and see all that was to be seen.  We both have a profound love for art and handmade items.  An admiration for the craft and those gifted enough to be their makers.  When things were good we'd bring something home.  A painting, sculpture, or pair of earrings.  

For the holidays this year Mom was very thoughtful (and Dad too; apparently he "helped") and got me something I had been drooling over for years.  Every time we came across this artist I'd linger and run my fingers over all the books, smell their covers, and coo at the beautiful handmade pages they contained.  While I received many nice things for the holidays, this is one of my favorite gifts.  Upon opening it, I experienced it with all my senses then proceeded to identify the plants trapped in the pages.

As I sit now looking at this clean slate of a journal, I can't help but think of Mom and all the wonderful Saturday afternoons we spent together walking the streets of the greater Tampa area.  Engrossed in the visual delights, yet simply enjoying the other's company and shared passion for art and craft.  I stroke its cover and know that I am loved.  I'm almost hesitant to write in it because then it might contain something less pure and beautiful as Mom's love.  Perhaps it is a place reserved solely for happy thoughts and treasures.

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