Dear all you mothers who make the world go ’round,
Yesterday as I cut roses from my garden, I was reminded of Mother’s Days past. How we, my little sister and I, wore a tiny red or pink rosebud to church that day. Momma wore red too, but because she was an adult in charge of things like money, she bought hers at the flower shop in town. Her corsage, a full grown rose, came in a clear plastic box with a long straight pin attached to the back for fastening to her dress. Nana wore a corsage of white gardenia, her favorite, each petal as soft as velvet, its perfume so strong and sweet that forty-five(!) years later, yesterday, when I walked past a gardenia bush at Westwood Gardens, the aroma pulled me over and vaulted me back to Brinkley Chapel. Just like that.
Nana wore a white flower because her Momma, my great-grandmother, died years before I was born. And even though I never met her, I’ve known her my whole life.Continue Reading
