My Mother's Lullabies

Mary Allen Burkholder Smolenski

She wasn't country club, 

though she grew up in it.

She was practical and matter of fact.

Mary Allen Burkholder, 9 years old, the middle daughter

She used a big magnet to hide 

an envelope of cash in the corner metal cabinet and a safety pin to keep the legs of a toddler's sleeper together and in the crib. "Necessity is the mother of invention," she'd say. 

I tried to pull her into my teenage drama

but she wouldn't come.

I got it from her.  She could redirect any child with a raised eyebrow.

When my children yank my chain they hear me say  "I will not be playing that game" or "Welcome to Camp Pat"...they pretty much know... 

She didn't go to every sporting event

and never felt guilty about it.

She didn't plan lunch dates or shopping dates

or mommy/daughter time.
She read to me, tucked me in and
sang adorable lullabies.  When we were sick 
she brought us scrambled eggs
on her special plate, with her china doll and a shoe box full of weathered family photos.

 

The Little Small Red Hen... she read this over and over to us with great inflection and drama!

She washed and sewed and thought of "umpteen" ways to sort socks.  She ironed shirts, gave spit baths to toddlers on the run, lined us up weekly to shampoo 10 heads, and made countless meals...

always the loaf of bread, in a stack, on the dinner table.

She said funny things like "If you're thirsty, swallow your spit" and "I am not Everybody Else's mother."

She said "uneducated women talked about people

and educated women talked about things."

That "men put their pants on one leg at a time," 

and some she "didn't trust as far as she could throw."

I shopped for my prom dresses in the attic closet,
worn by 7 sisters before me.  I wore every one of the bathing suits in this photo...

happy to have so many choices

and I never thought to ask for more.

She didn't drink (much),

she wasn't angry or resentful and sometimes,  I wonder why.

She taught me, scolded me, sang to me

and loved me, she told me so before she died...

"You're one of the good ones, Patty."

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Patricia Smolenski Spreng

In loving memory of Mary Allen Burkholder Smolenski (1918-2008)  

The lullabies she sang to me...

Bud

he came to her a bud

she even called him that once or twice

but one day he came to her

in a suit and tie

ready to move out

move on

the long awaited blossom

a fragrance so sweet

bursting forth

independently

and the smell of pride

filled the air

Patricia Spreng

Music Changes Everything

     Flavors 

       of

             passion  

    s 

      p   l  

           ash     

          e     d

        
      with    colors 

                 of       joy

           that     

                   dance

            in 

        the 

               freedom 

                        of                         c
                                M                  i
                                        u    s

                               

Patricia Spreng
Joining with d'Verse Poets... come and find the wonderful words of poets.

Pat Spreng with Dan, Chuck and Rod Jacobs 4-26-13 Click on the link to hear their amazing jazz, you won't be disappointed.  What a privilege to sing with them. Photo by Myrna Jacobs

Sheep On A Beach

I hear the rhythm of the ocean 

call my name and

I surrender all 
to crashing waters

in sandy pastures.

Captivated by day,

lulled by night,

I hear you speak

in sound waves

all your own.

For who’s to say

this is not exactly the

timbre, tone and depth

of your voice.

Vast, powerful,

soft and mesmerizing.

Always present,

always calling.

Patricia Spreng

My sheep listen to my voice…   John 10:27

Joining with d’Verse Poets for Open LinkNight.  Click on the white link and come read the wonderful words of poets.

Mercy Notes

 The young one dangles her toes

that barely touch streams of mercy,

singing strains of amazing grace

by heart.

Yet, I hear

deep cello cries rising up,

as mercy notes stir me.

Only they have no name, really.

For what do you call the silence of being captured by a thought,

or the sound of darkness as it disappears,

the weight of sin lifted?

My heartstrings tightened, tuned

‘til dissonant chords resolve

and knees fall down

to sing for you

the song you sang for me.

Patricia Spreng

Joining a bit late with d'Verse Poets for Open Link Night, click on the white link to find the wonderful words of poets.