Friday, January 14, 2011

My Mom: Singing Her Garden

Today I had such an amazing experience. I am currently deepening my play: Echo: A Poetic Journey into Justice (which brings awareness to how our youth in America are brutalized by sex trafficking/slavery).

Echo utilizes the beauty of African American Spirituals and Gospels. So, I was prayerfully searching out new music to give the play an added "kapow!".

I was listening to a song called  "God Will Take Care Of You" and my Mom came into the room and started singing away! She was such a happy little bluebird. Chirping!  I had actually forgotten that this was my Mom's favorite church song as a child. She loves, loves, loves this song.

She was just a busy singing...and I was just a busy soaking up the moment. Spirit gliding ("like a 747....").

Truly, it isn't everyday that your Mom stands besides you and sings "God Will Take Care Of You." And then she proceeded to grab the African American Heritage Hymnal book off of the shelf and belts out a flurry of additional songs: Page 127 - Father I Stretch My Hands To Thee, Page 471 - Precious Lord, Take My Hand. I am beginning to see a theme here......


I recognized the moment for the beauty that soared upon its back. It made me smile in my spirit and at the playfulness of The Almighty.

My Mom and I are very different. We clash a bit. She is holds a Doctorate, is whip smart, perfectly coiffed and attired at 9am in the morning. A former Educator of a whirlwind,  take no guff, doesn't suffer fools easily, straight to the point, and all around awesome of the awesomeEST kinda lady. And I, well, hmmm, I am a romantic, creative type, who loves to do my poetic thing in my PJ's at 5am, vintage-loving-Goodwill-shopping, animal lover, writer who has slept on many floors with a blanket (sometimes a coat), and often share lunch with my friend King who is habitually homeless. I love King. He calls me Queen and gave me a copy of Dante's Inferno the first time we met.

In my own defense, I clean up really well, so I've been told, my mirror mirror says so too. But basically I am the most comfortable in a pair of 7 For Humanity Jeans (gifted to me by my Mom as I would have purchased a five dollar pair from Goodwill), my fav low black 1940 style heels (gosh, also gifted to me by my Mom and I am beginning to see another theme here....), black sweater (yes. Mom again.), or a tee shirt (That's from me!), and my $14.99 100 percent black cashmere coat from the 1960's that I treasure hunted at Goodwill.

The coat saga is a whole 'nother story: I basically had to fight my Mom to "allow" me to buy my coat from Goodwill as opposed to the oo-la-la place where she thought I should make such a purchase. It was a great great nano-second when she first saw my sleek looking beaut of a coat. She was happily surprised. I just know it. I saw her eyes smile. Sure did.

In truth, I think the smile stemmed from  my stubbornness over it all. You see, stubbornness flows in my blood, gene pool. Throughout the generations of my family's history. African American/Cherokee from Alabama. Sure nuff we are a stubborn lot. Had to. Had to be. Flows through the rivers of Mom's side of the family. My Granddaddy was notorious for standing up for his rights. I've heard stories about guns being drawn between White and Black. White cops, Black Granddaddy. Never a good mix back in the day. Granddaddy was determined to survive. Apparently, he had lots of guns. He was good at eyeballing and standing his ground. Stubborn about being able to feel the flow of humanity's embrace. Mom is the same. Me too. We come by it honestly. Selah.

I digress. Back to wardrobe chat. Lighter fare. Indeed. Mom is more of a Chanel, Louis Feraud, Maud Frizon, Hermes Scarf kinda woman. And funny, those were all gifted from me! Interesting. There was a time in my life where I actually had a booming business/vintage clothing shop. Mom was my perfect target for gifts because she loves (is) beauty. Naturally, I bought her beautiful things. I also learned during this time to send her poetry written on cut out paper hearts. I didn't want her to get too too spoiled with stuff. After all. I think she secretly liked the poetry much better than the ca-ching ching things. The jury is still out on that.

The one thing that Mom and I have in common, besides our stubborn nature,  is that we are both passionately tenacious. Oh yes and also we both have a heart for helping kids. And we both have a sweet tooth. And probably we are both bossy (she more than me..of course...) And... And... And.... Differently the same. I suppose.

Whatever the case may be, today God graciously delivered to us the same beautiful moment. A blended love song. Time slices itself into lovely when one hears her Mother sing her own childhood memories. Sweet. I can just imagine her as a little pretty girl: dressed in her Sunday Best, sun kissed glistening choclate drop skin, frocked out in pink, ribbons in her hair, shiny black patent leather shoes, and the prerequisite frilly girly handbag (complete with a hanky, a handful of peppermints, and coins for the offering plate)

Gorgeous little fire child.

Lovely. Cherished.


2011 Copyright ReginaY. Evans, All Rights Reserved (From the forthcoming Book: "Progeny and Me")

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