Pumpkin Cottage

Pumpkin Cottage
sit and visit a spell

Friday, November 20, 2015

Querida Mãe

Dear Mother,

It has been 6 years since your passing.
I think of you each day and feel
forever blessed to have had
you as my mother.

You taught me to pray, to buy the best
I could afford, to love with an open heart,
to share, to care about the poor and less fortunate,
and countless other treasures to live by.

You taught me that the front garden is the first living
room and it should be inviting to guests and family.  You
taught me that with parsley, green onions, and a pinch of
salt a healing broth could be made.

You taught me to plant by the phases of the moon,
to enjoy the feel and smell of the dirt, to show my
love by talking to plants.

During the most difficult time of caring
for father, you would work the garden by the
light of the moon and found solace in the company
of flowers and vegetables.

There was a legacy in all that you shared.  When I became
pregnant with my fourth child at forty-two I worried you
would be angry and disappointed, but no you said that
would be the child you carried in your soul.

Calheta de Nequim, Pico, Acores Summer of 1976

I can't identify the three on the left, but if you start in the middle.
Dulce, in the blue and white weave top, the baby is Christine, my
niece, my sister and her mother, Mericia, is holding her.
That's my granny, Olinda, she had Ankylosing Spondylitis, too.
At the far right is my mother, Alzira.  Mother is 46 years and my
Granny is 91, look how black her hair is.

Granny had the bluest eyes, alabaster skin and jet black hair.
More than any of us, Olinda, was a happy smiling soul.
She raised 13 children of her own to adulthood. My mother
was the youngest. 

This photo reflects not only people I love but things I hold
dear.  The wood ceiling, exposed rock walls (white washed),
a hanging cabinet.  I can't be sure but I think lace decorates
the shelf in the cabinet and there are hanging tea cups.
Look to the right of my mother, there is a white enamelware basin bowl.

My father and mother in the pink kitchen of 424 Purisima.
Mother in her ever-present apron.  I collect aprons because
they remind me of her and the care she used in everything
she did.  My mother is holding the last supper that would
hang in a place of honor in each of her kitchens.

I long for them, especially as we enter the holiday season.
Today and everyday you live in my heart.

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