Behind Every Mother....

HAPPY MOTHER"S DAY!
We are all friends, daughters, sisters, aunts, mothers, and (hopefully someday) grandmothers. Our lives are woven by God into a tapestry made up of threads of the past, colored by personalities, strengthened by wisdom, and patched with love. Recently, Writespassage featured pictures from the past. Behind them all, there are a million stories and memories. In honor of Mother's Day, I pulled pictures from a heritage scrapbook I've made and thought I'd share a snippet about my ancestors.

Grandma Peggy and Grandpa Jimmy weren't blood kin, but they were my God-given, ever-loving blessing. Grandma Peggy grew the most amazing gardenias by dumping each morning's coffe grounds at their base.


On Daddy's side, there was my Great-grandmother, Florence Dell Smith. She lived with us for a time, and my strongest memories of her all revolve around jam. We passed it around the table so it reached her last, and she couldn't wait. "Where's my jam? Who has my jelly?" Once the dish reached her, she ate every last speck of it!

My Daddy's mother, Carol Wynonna Stahl Smith, was a minister's wife who lost one child and reared six more through the Great Depression. Stone deaf by the age of twenty-two, she still sang with perfect pitch. One Christmas, she brought an entire suitcase to carry two hats!

On Mom's side....

Great-grandma Elizabeth Albright Krehbiel was a wheat farmer's wife. Long before "The Price is Right" used their phrase, "Come on down!" she'd step out onto her porch and motion to all of her relatives to hop off the horse-drawn wagons and call out in German, "Come on down!"

Grandma Enda Krehbiel Gering, her daughter, always baked. Her home smelled of freshly baked break, cinnamon rolls, apfel borogie, and pie. When I was fourteen, she came to California for Christmas, and she taught me to bake. Her dogs loved her baking, too--she'd butter fresh, hot bread, sprinkle it with sugar, and give them "just a little bite or two." or three or four..... Her dauchunds weren't weiner dogs--they were sausage dogs!


Great-grandma Gering and her groom, Ben, moved into a farmhouse where they put down deep, deep roots. Fifty years later, they celebrated their 50th anniversary with an open house at that same place. She and her sister both married Gering brothers, and both couples had loads of kids. Looking at pictures of the huge family together, it's nearly impossible to tell who belongs to whom.

Mom wasn't sure she wanted me to use her picture here. I talked her into letting me use the picture of her when she was in nursing school. This is what she looked like the first time my daddy saw her. It was love at first sight for him--she took a lot longer to return the sentiment. Behind every mother, there is a child who can tell stories. I could try to describe her trying to teach my brother to hurdle. She put on wild plaid shorts and propped a broomstick across a chair and a ladder. But that's too tame. You might all better understand how I became who I am when I mention that my mother tried to revive my brother's hamster. It got left out in the sun and got sunstroke, so Mom tried to cool it and give it mouth-to-uhhh-mouth rescuitation.

Yes, behind every mother there are generations of women, friends, sisters--all who made her who she is. And following them is inevitably a big-mouthed kid who spills the beans!
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Cathy