Important Work

March on Washington, August 28, 19963

Fifty years ago this week,
a young Negro mother hugged her husband,
smiled "I love you",
and with her eyes, reminded him she was in support of his decision.

Their five children watched him stow several printed signs and a suitcase in the belly of a bus
bound for Washington D.C.
He then return to hug each one tightly
before smiling at his daughters
and exchanging a "take care of your mother" look with his sons.

The small family stood by their car and watched as the bus pulled out of the station.  The drive home was long and tearful until the mother reminded them to be strong because their father had gone to do "important work".


Fifty years ago today,
that young Negro man,
my father,
represented the N.A.A.C.P. of Logan, West Virginia at the March on Washington.

Jesse Martin, Sr. N.A.A.C.P. president, Logan, WVA

He joined in solidarity with thousands of others,
black and white,
rich and poor,
to watch and listen to a young Negro preacher,
wise beyond his years,
deliver a speech that would move a nation.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Today,
Fifty years later,
Dr. King's speech about equality, acceptance, understanding, and his dream for this nation
is one of the most recited, discussed and studied in United States history.

It opened wide the door for a "peaceful" Civil Rights revolution.

It serves as a reminder that we must never forget where we've come from
and never give up on this
"important work".

Reverend Jesse James Martin, Sr.

Today is my father's birthday.

He would have been 87 years old.

I love him.

I miss him.

 "...the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD."

                                                                                                        -Job 1:21

The Blessings of Mother

These are flowers from my mother's yard...nature's work of beauty.  

She is God's work of beauty.  

In her eighty-five years she has...

    been a loving wife,
    mother, and
    grandmother

    taught us right from
    wrong

    taken us to church 

taught us the importance of a "good name".

The Artist, the Musician, the Writer

Sisters:
one artist,
one musician,
one writer

The artist paints murals on bedroom walls.
The musician raises heavenly praises.
The writer thinks on paper.
They meet for coffee, a lot of girl talk and...well...maybe just a TEEnie, weenie bit of gossip.

They agree to walk the local trail for exercise.
The trail winds up being the sidewalk between stores at an outlet mall 50 miles north.
Great deals! 

Long ago, the child artist, musician and writer, huddle together in a quiet house.
Lights and TV off.
Thunder rolls.
"That's the devil bowling," says the artist.
The musician and writer believe her.

Easter Sunday

Wake to sunshine,
Watch Joel Osteen - God finishes what he starts.

Go down stairs,
Gather ingredients on kitchen table,
Turn on Sunday Morning.

Mix butter, sugar, eggs, flour, vanilla, bake - Cake.

Daughter tip toes into kitchen, hug, talk, laugh,
Mix sweet potatoes, butter, sugar, eggs, milk, nutmeg, cinnamon, pour into crusts, bake - Pie.

Fry Amish bacon (yes Sybil, Amish), brew Guatemalan coffee,
Another daughter joins in, talk, laugh,
Eat corner of cherry turnover - Joy.

Shower, makeup, dress, hair, change purses, chat with son,
Pull out of drive way, watch bird pull worm from lawn - Breakfast.

Church, preaching, singing, "I Am", the Lord's Supper,
Kiss and hug friends, take pictures, leave.

Back home, house smells great
Change clothes, update blog, birds sing,
Look out window, notice bright green budding of willow tree,
Wrap food, load in cars, leave for Tee's - Finally.

Mother, sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, friends,
Bless food, eat, laugh, eat, laugh some more,
Stories of Easters past - Love.

Go home,
Sneak another piece of pie,
Relax, reflect - Grateful!

Good Friday Memories

I lean forward in the backseat of my sister's SUV to glance at my mother.
Normally her quick wit makes everybody laugh.
Today she sits in the front passenger seat...quiet.
Soft gray curls line her face.

I have a sudden urge to lean through the seats and envelope her in a hug, kiss her cheek and lean my face against those gray curls.

Anything to make her smile.

She keeps her eyes closed as we talk about the ham we'll bake for Easter dinner, the fragrant red strawberries we'll slice to decorate pound cake, how we have one more stop to make at the market for Collard greens.

Blueish gray eyes open momentarily.
She asks if we want turkey and dressing (her specialty).
I look from her to my sister and we to our brother.
We all answer yes but wonder if the task will require too much of her.

I wonder what is on her mind...
if she is thinking, like me, about our lives before,
when holiday dinners meant we'd all be there,
all eight of us.

If she is remembering how she'd cook
turkey, dressing, ham and chitterlings...
greens, cornbread, macaroni and cheese...
bake chocolate, coconut, pound and carrot cakes...
lemon custard pie, banana pudding and home made rolls,
and yes, from time to time, jello.

How we'd all make a fuss over the meal...
how Daddy always had us hold hands and form a circle
while he prayed to Bless the food and the hands that prepared it.

How after dinner we'd all sit around
and listen to our brothers tell of things they'd done as kids
she and daddy had not know of until now.

How cousins came to our house for desert after leaving their own family tables.

How children were encourage to take one more bite of food
before opening cellophane coverd Easter baskets.

And long, long ago,
how Shady Grove Baptist Church held egg hunts.
How we, as kids, ran through that yard
looking around rocks,
wild spring flowers,
and behind the church to find them.

I wonder if she thought of the many times she'd pressed and curled our hair for church.

How she'd always made sure we looked our best. I wondered...
and then realized how grateful I was to have her.

How I hope I've inspired my children the way she has inspired us.

Happy Birthday to Me!

December 9th arrived quietly today.
It brought snow,
a personally made card,
three Face Book greetings,
two text messages,
three phone calls,
a Red Velvet cake,
ice cream,
and a loving family to wish me "Happy Birthday!"...
and it was.

The Bounty

Green beans, corn, okra, zucchini,

cabbage, tomatoes, cucumbers,

yellow squash, jalapeno and green peppers,

collard greens, romaine lettuce and yellow corn.
What do all of these vegetables have in common?

They grow in my brother's urban garden.
Yes, right in his backyard.

My mom and I dropped in for a visit which turned into a harvest fest.
We walked, talked, picked and ate our way through row after row of organic wonder.

Four hours, and several baskets later,
I made my way home with this bounty.

What to do? What to do?

My first thought was to make an arrangement.

Cute, but not too functional.
I had to get serious and look for recipes.
So far I have baked zucchini bread and prepared tomato/cucumber/vinegar salads.

Now I'm looking for yellow squash recipes.
If you have one you love, and would like to send, I'll try it.

It's My Turn

I always enjoy an afternoon with my daughter.

When she was little, it was my job to introduce her to life's little pleasures.

Now that she is an adult, she introduces me to hers:
a plate of seasalt chocoloate chip cookies...

the beauty of a local vegetable garden.

Moments more precious than gold!

The Quiet of Morning

A cup of coffee, golden brown, mildly sweet,
sits on the table beside me.
I relax in the morning air and collect my thoughts.
This is the one thing I have in common with my great grandmother.
She, too, was a coffee lover.

So we sit,
me on a small balcony with a view of the Atlantic.
She on the back porch with a view of mountains.

These were probably the most peaceful moments of her day,
at the break of dawn,
as chickens awake,
as biscuit dough rises,
before she cuts thick bacon strips from a slab.

Soon the house would be full of morning aromas,
bacon, biscuits, fried eggs, grits, and coffee.
Aromas that waft through bedrooms on a mission
to wake sleeping ones from pleasant dreams.

But for now, this is the quiet of the morning she loved, same as I.

In Honor of a Life Well Lived

Today we honored Daddy with this stone and fresh flowers.

It was the least we could do for the man who taught us so much.

The man who loved us so much.
The man who gave us so much.
We are grateful to have loved and been loved by him.

*For the reciter of poems,...a poem

A kind hearted man
stood in his backyard
feeding his young dog 'Bo',
When he heard the call of a Mourning Dove,
that soft cooing sound he loved so.

He remembered the joy,
he felt as a boy
when Mourning Doves gathered in trees,
to sing just for him,
a lone country boy,
so happy and easily pleased.

Daddy, you continue to inspire us!