Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Mom is 85

Mom is 85

Here is a poem about Mom I wrote for her 85th birthday.
Everyone said I nailed her essence.
That was my intent. We had a great time at her celebration at the Watershed Center in Edwardsville, Illinois, the home of my youth full of feelings and $4.50 a dozen bicolor wonderful fresh picked Illinois Sweet Corn after perfect spring weather.
Mary

Today

Today we all came to celebrate One.

You gave us life, You gave us some

Of your life, your sweet smile, your philosophy of love,

Your heart, your soul, your image of above.

Your modern way of thinking was ahead of your time,

Your stollen, cookies and kolaches, sublime,

You sing like a bird, worked like a dog

Raised seven children, part of it a fog.

You did pretty much what you wanted to do,

Still there is restlessness deep within you.

Your Bohemian side, a gypsy at heart,

Fights your sensible Swede head for a start.

You are conflicted, a human for sure,

At 85 what more do you have to endure?

You have had love and pain, sorrow and joy,

A full life indeed, and one you enjoyed.

Teaching us all the lessons of life,

Hoping you can keep us free from strife,

Always a mother, a shaman, a friend,

Loving to discuss your view of “the end”.

Just when I wonder what more you have waiting,

And your every word I am anticipating

Some wisdom therein you are sure to find

It is all there in that steel trap mind.

Today we came for your 85th year,

Hoping to give you a dose of good cheer

To lift your spirits, show you the way

That we all love you

We are here,

Today



4 comments:

  1. Happy Birthday to your mother!

    And kolaches...oh my. I haven't had one in a hundred years. LOL. I miss them. And stollen. I guess I was 18 (that was long time ago) and in New Orleans.

    Hope your mom had a great time. What a great tribute.

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  2. Thanks for stopping by. My Mom, Dad and my sibs and families and friends had a great visit. Mom made melt in your mouth sweet and buttery stollen. I tried to watch her and replicate it but could never make it like her. She said her kolaches (pronounced ko-lah-chkee or ko-lah-tsch) were not as good as her Mom's. She and friends made 15,000 Christmas cookies every year. Mary

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  3. What a wonderful tribute and though I've never met your mother your poem depicted a clear picture for me.
    Judy

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