How low can a pumpkin go?
Lower than the sharpest knife in the drawer.
HaPPy CaRviNG, FoLkS!
God and I chose my mother when it was time;
time for me to materialize to another state of consciousness;
to the world of my home — Mother Earth.
Allowed to be by the grace of God, together, my mother and father
created and put forth my human form.
My looks, my temperament, and my gifts, intelligently designed;
put in their proper stations, descended genes of antiquity.
Naked, vulnerable, and afraid, I struggled,
then I reached out and cried;
the breath of life…not to be denied.
Fresh, newborn, and willing in my flesh;
a truly authentic specimen — testimony to generations
of forefathers, and absolutely a direct descendant of my mom.
I wonder of Mother’s ability to struggle — to balance,
to direct her energies in raising our family.
I know her face; she is proud of me.
Her somber face of suffering I know, as well.
Supporting the cross I had to bear, she helped me understand,
it would be mine and mine alone to carry, but God would be with me,
over and over again, throughout my days on Earth.
Alas, throughout my Mother’s later years,
I must have my cross under control; well-balanced,
so I might then be able, in return, to help her bear her cross.
No strings of duty shall be attached; just the harp-like heartstrings,
“Reserved: For Mother’s Only!”
I can see her now, sitting at the piano;
loving, teaching, and encouraging with melodies,
harmonies, rhythms and rhymes from The Beatles to Christmastime.
She held my hand and inspired me to a lifelong passion for music.
Now, I cannot even imagine any kind of life without music,
nor do I wish to imagine life without the blessings of my mother.
Somehow, I just know — my soul does understand,
she will always be here for me,
plucking at my heartstrings; guiding me, forgiving me,
and supporting me until the sun sets on my days beyond the hill.
One day, we’ll meet again in Heaven, this I know,
because we love each other, it shall be so.
Written and given to my mom on Mother’s Day in 2001
Rest In Peace
Evelyn Marie Watson
December 26, 1934 — September 25, 2018
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
“Good golly, Uncle Tree! This red stuff is the bomb!”
Here she comes now making a beeline for the feeder.
“Sweet uncle, hate to tell you, but my lifeline has a leak!”
No worries, young lady, we won’t let the well go dry.
“Can you see me now, Uncle Tree? I’m chiming in.”
Careful now, Ruby. You can only drink so much in one setting.
I’ll leave when I’m darn well ready, dear uncle.
10 seconds tops. I got this hankering.
Sit still and take pictures.
Make me famous.
“Oh, my Sweet Lord! Can you help me straighten things out here?”
“My dear sweet petunia dear…WoWzer, how I loveth thee!”
“Looketh not at my shadow. I’m not Batman for God’s sake!”
“My one true love…quickly! Where did you hide my Viagra?”
“Turneth down the lights, my dear, please. Spare me the magnanimity.”
“Buzz is the word fornication wishes it was.”
Photographs by Uncle Tree