Stain-glass Eyes

A few days ago on a dark, cloudy morning as I walked in the rain, I met (at nose-level) a fragrant, light-purple blossom. It was so weighed down by water that had settled on the grape-shaped flower it caused the whole branch to lean unnaturally across the sidewalk. I knew if I touched it I would get a head full of rain like I’d turned on a sprinkler. Instead, I leaned forward and gently touched the bloom to lift it to my nose. I sucked in the rich, sweet smell and could almost taste the fragrance. I wasn’t sure why I immediately closed my eyes until I saw a screen of memories gently pass behind my eyelids. Smell connected to all my other brain senses and insisted I fully pull in its power. The first rush of memory was me with my head back so I l could look up at huge, gnarly lilac trees covered in soft-violet shades of color. They surrounded my childhood home with a burst of color. I saw the old rickety, back shed, door wide open with the screen already serving its purpose to air out t

Songs, poetry, movies and jokes have been made about mothers. Mothers have made hero status in scores of people's lives. And a villain in other’s. I found this definition of “Mother” which I hadn’t heard of before: noun: a stringy, mucilaginous substance consisting of various bacteria, especially Acetobacter aceti, that forms on the surface of a fermenting liquid and converts ethanol to acetic acid, as in changing wine or cider to vinegar. Not the definition I would use for my mother. We cling to what we feel the definition of “Mother” is to us. I hope not too tightly because it changes as we mature and it doesn't need to have a narrow meaning. Our ability to love our mothers unconditionally gives us possibility of receiving unconditional love in return. The joke is on you when you realize you’ve become your mother in surprising ways. (Brothers can identify with this as well. I’m pretty sure my brothers know how to clean up a kitchen well with the best of us). Perfection is hi