Order and Appearance
The mimosa tree was a place of refuge with it’s smooth bark short truck, not too high limbs that were perfect for climbing, sitting in and reading.
The Seuss-like spiky, pink, white with a bit of yellow puffball blossoms shot up from fern like leaves and put out a faint sweet smell.
Girlfriends came over to climb with me, photos give evidence that we are related to monkeys.
It was the only tree in our large front yard that was mainly green St. Augustine grass with a couple of low growing red azalea bush flower beds.
Our yard was neat and tidy. In fact, we were Yard of the Month once, and a sign was placed by the local garden club near the street for all to see. Certainly, John Henry, our sweet yard man should have been given this award, but that’s another story.
One day Daddy cut down my mimosa tree because the blossoms were messy.
This is what I got for you today, two writers from Mississippi, each had a piece published recently in Vanity Fair. This strange Southern land, rich in culture, strife, and story is still producing writers that will go down in history.
On Witness and Respair: A personal tragedy followed by pandemic
Mississippi: A Poem, In Days
Keeping it simple, WordPress has changed up it’s format. I’m learning but not very fast. It’s doesn’t feel conducive to writing. Stay tuned. Hope you read both of the recommended readings for today.
This picture came up as a memory today. Elizabeth has been at the forefront of my mind lately. She raised me from infancy until 6 years of age. We had the days to ourselves in the midst of a chaotic, dysfunctional family. I was the youngest of 4 and there were 7 years difference between me and the next sibling.
Once everyone was off to school and work, she put me on the kitchen counter, served me toast with honey and coffee with cream and sugar. (I’m drinking my coffee with cream and sugar as I write this) I was content as she went about cleaning the kitchen. I was her side kick all day. Life was peaceful and full of love during our hours together.
A friend of mine is doing ancestry.com. I asked her to look Elizabeth up. After no avail, I am going to start my own research on her background. She is who I am interested in. The woman who loved me, sacrificed time with her own daughter and gracefully put on a white uniform, got on the bus and arrived at our house to help make it appear beautiful on the inside and out.
I already know my grandfathers on both sides were corrupt. My maternal grandfather was director of war bonds under President Taft. My paternal grandfather became sheriff in the south during prohibition. He had a check on his desk the day he went into office from the bootleggers. No pride in that.
I’ll let you know what I find out.