100 Years

100 years ago today, my mother was born.  She grew up in the midst of the depression, living on a red clay farm in the hills of Alabama.  She married young, way too young, hoping to escape the poverty of her family.  She was a child having children.  Before she was 20, she had buried her first born and was a single mom with three sons and a daughter.

By the time World War II had started she had married my dad and started a new life.  My mom had grit.  She did what it took to survive and made sure that her kids had grit too.  We all knew how to garden, clean and cook.  When I was 15 she signed a work permit so that I could work weekends and after school.  I have been working ever since.  Mother's favorite saying, " you can rest when you die."

She passed away 12 years ago.  I miss her every day.  She taught me to cook, to sew, to draw.  She had amazing style on a tight budget.
She was beautiful, olive skin, dark coco eyes and dark hair.
One of my friends told me that she was always amazed at the love she felt in my mom's kitchen.
This is one of my favorite picture of her.  She is holding my oldest brother ( her second born) Herbert.  She loved to tell the story of how so many people would brag about what a pretty baby Herbert was that she became scared someone would try to kidnap him.  Each time they went out, she pinned him to her coat.  Herbert died suddenly just a couple of months after momma did.
I like to think they are pinned together for eternity.

Mother loved Christmas.  We shopped together.  I helped her decorate her tree, wrap her packages and send out her Christmas cards.  We had so much fun hitting the malls, the dollar stores, we shopped everywhere.

So tonight, Happy Birthday momma, I know you are somewhere laughing.  I hope they are playing your favorite Christmas song, Silver Bells and you are wearing your high heels.