Wisdom of the Ages 188

“My mother taught me to stitch. She, Geneva Marie, taught me to garden. She taught me about a rich, living beauty that is so rare, so strong and so immediately fragile. She died at 84 this February. April 22 is her birthday, so I am thinking of her intensely. She was so generous with thread and material, with her plants and bulbs, but in earlier, more difficult times she tatted quilts in bright blocks of her old dresses over my father’s old army wool blankets. I still see those patterns of the dresses she wore and the lovely fronds of threads covering my head in bad dreams, how could you not fall back asleep when the smell of her dresses covered you carefully at night?
The Alzheimers, the cancer, they are nothing now. She won. I was busy like her with my children, with my life, my job, but when she saw I was crazy cleaning or organizing too much, in my younger years, she would say to me, “Dishes will wait, dear, dirt is stable. How are you? What is your new project? What did my sweet grandkids say to you today?” 
My kids are grown, their lovely lives are never stable, but reliable.
So my words of wisdom?
Geneva would say, Dirt is stable, it will be there for you tomorrow to clean. Your worries will answer themselves. What is your vision, dear? What are you doing for yourself in this precious day? What did you see? Do you see those clouds? Hmm, I ‘ve never seen those before. 
The sky that day was blue, like cornflower, but more brilliant, clouds white, like lace. Figures appeared in the sky clouds for dreaming. We decided one was a woman on a horse, her gowns streaming as she rode.
So I would love to tell my mother, Today I saw and smelled cherry and apple blossoms after the longest drought ever, here in the high desert. Even without water they bloomed. I want to make them into an embroidered silk scarf to cover us when we all get scared at night. I have a scarf you left for me to work upon. I promise to choose the finest, most beautiful of all the treasures you left for me and let the hardships fall to the ground. A cloud one day, a rose the next. Sleep easy now, Mama, I know what you said. I know what you meant. I’ll send my scarf up into the clouds, like a kite, for you to see. Will you puzzle the shape of it out up there in heaven? A heart with wings?  I promise to revel in this day, as much as my life allows, and let the dirt wait for tomorrow.”
Woman, 48, Albuquerque

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