I'm sitting at a lovely table. The 10am sun is pushing west through a window to the right. Three beautiful, intelligent, fascinating women are seated with me. It's quite an honor, and, for just a moment, we're gathered to celebrate Motherhood. Cause, hey, you know me, I've got one of the best.
She's also got her friend, Angela from Australia, there, and wadayano people who rock seem to find each other. Though you and I already knew that, right?
Angela and I are in this religious discussion. It seems she has found great solace and huge inspiration with a certain, unspecified in this post, religion. We'll just go ahead and say that this religion possibly relies heavily on a witnessing type of program, a marketing strategy perhaps, to enlist what I would call an army of sorts. The mere fact that I am so verbally resisting becoming a petty officer means I could have possibly painted a target on my head. All in all, you, my reader, can already get a sense of how this discussion is going.
Actually, it's fantastic. Thrilling. I am sitting there with strong, passionate women and we're having this really intriguing conversation about our perceptions. And it's beautiful. It's not hateful at all. There is a distinct freedom to be who you are and be loved for it. This home, my sweet Mother's house, is that place. She is, without a doubt, a master of unconditional love.
Of course, I couldn't speak of that place without speaking of this guy who ever so often walks in the room and places a pinchful of some type of shrub clippings in a small, teak bowl sitting on the table in front of me. He and I have got some history so I don't hesitate picking up that bowl and bringing it to my nose.
It is the sweetest smell. Mild, maybe more fruity. Quite perfect so I ask this guy, who has been brave enough to mosey on in amongst estrogen ignited, where he got this stuff. I wish for you I could write exactly what he said and how he said it. I can't. All I can remember now is there is this plant called a sweet shrub, which grows rather easily on the outer banks of the Buckatunna Creek, and my Daddy is so familiar with the regional vegetation that he realizes it's value.
At some point in his life, or maybe throughout his entire existence, he became intimately involved with the land that surrounded him. I, on the other hand, never really stopped long enough to smell a shrub. This day I mention...he taught me in his own sweet, subtle way, once again, to take note of the beauty that surrounds me.
I am so very grateful for those parents of mine.