My Mother, My Inspiration

DIGITAL CAMERAIn honor of the 10th anniversary of my mother’s death (has it really been that long!), here’s a piece I wrote for Mothers’ Day, 2005. Though hard to tell here, the original poem was in the shape of a pink (her favorite color) dress. She never wore a pair of pants in her entire life, and her unbraided hair reached down to her waist. I still miss her. For those who knew her, what would you add?

Yarn-knitter          Baby-maker

Salt and pepper-collector / Go-getter

Potato masher-collector / Accordion-performer

Children-entertainer / Care package-sender

Needlepoint-sewer / Hospitality-offerer

Grandma-perfecter / Braille-endeavorer

Animal-intolerator / Laughter-infector

Home-maker / Hat-crocheter

Pie-server / Idea-getter






Sunday School-leader

Music-lover / Bangs-curler

Puzzle-doer / Pickle-canner

Dress-donner / Movie-nixer

Oyster-eater / Sugar-shunner

Word-repeater / Braid-wearer

Jump rope-tryer / Dune-climber

Husband-server / Hygiene-seeker

Reading-teacher / Chocolate-lover

Necklace-wearer / Eyesight-dimmer

Cake-decorator / Fresh bread-baker

Medicine-dispenser / Dr. Laura-listener

Cello-player / Pillow-sewer / People-pleaser

Dispensary-worker / Des Moines-originator

Piano-plinker / Mill-displayer / School-teacher

Book-reader / Stuffed-toy-creator / Example-doer

8 thoughts on “My Mother, My Inspiration

  1. Prayer Warrior? I wish I’d known her. She sounds like a wonderful woman. I miss my mother, too. We just passed the 11th anniversary of her death in December. Memory Eternal to both our mothers.


  2. Wow Karen, I’m impressed! I’m sure your mom was blessed and honored by that tribute. Two thoughts about her came to mind: she loved the King James Bible and, I believe, loved playing Rook, right?


  3. Yes! You are right on the money. Though I often associate those two things more with my dad, my mother definitely had those traits. Yet she was conflicted, I think. She felt that The Living Bible was appropriate for English learners, but disdained it for herself. And Scrabble was her preferred game. When we played Rook, she’d heave a deep sigh if she got a bad hand (which she claimed happened frequently). So if she took the bid, we knew it was a zinger. Dad, on the other hand, would keep a poker face and bid even on a bad hand. Oh the memories . . .


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