Beltane \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Beltane Moon<\/p>\n
Mother’s day. \u00a0Every year. \u00a0Since her death. \u00a01964. \u00a0A long time to be motherless. \u00a0Almost a life time.<\/p>\n
Her stroke changed all our lives. \u00a0We went on but not well. \u00a0I often stumbled, not picking myself up and shaking it off, not turning the pain into a gift. \u00a0Instead, I experienced it as pain.<\/p>\n
(Morristown Post Office)<\/p>\n
She was a small town girl. Morristown, Indiana. \u00a0800 people. \u00a0Many of them our kin. \u00a0A rural town right where Indiana breaks into full on country as you travel south, the big cities and heavy industry behind you. \u00a0Lots of corn and beans (soy beans), tractors, barns, cows, pigs, a few horses. \u00a0Still that way.<\/p>\n
Might have been a small town girl her whole life, except for WWII. \u00a0Signal Corps. \u00a0Mom was a WAC. \u00a0She went to Rome, Naples, Capri, Algiers. \u00a0After, she married Dad. \u00a0She had an A.A. degree in teaching, elementary.<\/p>\n
Never learned to drive. \u00a0Can you imagine? \u00a0A midwestern country girl who never learned to drive. \u00a0Didn’t stop her from an active life. In our small town, Alexandria, Indiana, there was no spot you couldn’t reach by walking. \u00a0So Mom went everywhere on foot or riding with Dad.<\/p>\n
Warm and quick, kind, loving. \u00a0Compassionate. \u00a0You know, the mom you see on the cover of Saturday Evening Post drawn by Normal Rockwell.<\/p>\n
Since 1964, she’s been a memory. \u00a0At times she almost seems to slip away, a murmur, a rumor from the past, like an imaginary place I used to visit as a small boy. \u00a0Then I recall the garden spider at our kitchen window. \u00a0Her taking insects in a kleenex to release outside, something I still do. \u00a0Her voice breaking as she learned her father, Charlie Keaton, my namesake and grandfather, had died.<\/p>\n
So, mother’s day has not been a big favorite of mine, not for a long time. \u00a0Not a happy day with dinner out, flowers and a big hug. \u00a0No, “remember when?” \u00a0No, “you’re just what I hoped.” \u00a0No, “oh, you.” \u00a0Just not. Absence.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Beltane \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Beltane Moon Mother’s day. \u00a0Every year. \u00a0Since her death. \u00a01964. \u00a0A long time to be motherless. \u00a0Almost a life … Continue reading Mother’s Day. Not A Happy Day.<\/span>