Happy Mother’s Day to my mama in Heaven.

I’ve written a bit about my mother; her incredible ability to cook amazing food out of very little and of course adopting me at the age of 43.

Mama (Rose) was born in Indian territory, Oklahoma in 1914. Her Irish father (Charley) was known as the ‘meanest red-headed man on earth’. Her mother died when mama was a baby, so her father and two brothers were all she had. They lived in a shack with dirt floors and if you had to relieve yourself… well, any tree would do.

Things didn’t really pick up for the family as time went on, given the Great Depression starting in 1929 and the Dust Bowl occurring at roughly the same time. I can’t imagine the abject poverty.

At one point mama and her family were living in a fruit stand alongside the road. Dirt floor again, no facilities and everyone pitched in.

They all picked cotton. They did anything to survive.

At some point mama was sent to a girl’s school… goodness knows what it really was… but thankfully she was rescued by her Aunt Ollie sometime during her teen years.

Good food, nice clothes and real school. I can only imagine how lovely that was for her!

During WWII she worked in an aircraft plant. I don’t know too much about her life because mama didn’t speak about it often, as though she was ashamed of it… or worried it would catch back up to her, I don’t know.

Even though I was adopted, mama is always with me. When sick, I want to sit on her lap and lay my head on her bosom. When cooking, I wonder what she would have done… she never passed on any tips…. and because I wanted to be outside more than anything, I never asked. My loss.

When children are bereft at receiving only one X Box or whatever for their birthdays I think of mama. And I’m thankful for the spirit of gratitude knowing her gave me.

Happy Mother’s Day to mama and to the woman who gave birth to me, still alive, who does not know me. Blessings to all mothers, always!

I’m making a little scrapbook for mama.