This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com.

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1" Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3" The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5" From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7" September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9" Apples "10"
Rain "11" Pumpkins "12"
Halloween "13" Big City "14"
Remembrance Day "15" Autumn Harvest "16"
A Cozy Nook "17" Migration "18"
The Kitchen On Memory Lane "19" Holding Hands "20"
Indoor Gardening "21" Playing In The Snow "22"
Bonding With Children "23" Old House "24"
The General Store "25" Friends and Friendship "26"
The Kitchen Window "27" Gentle Hearts "28"
Our Sweet Tooth "29" Cars "30"
Our Good Morning! "31" Pictures on the Wall "32"
Easter "33" Our Feathered Friends "34"
My Bucket "35" Birthdays "36"
From A High Place "37" Mothers





 


Mothers

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)







Chinese Proverb:

One generation plants the trees; another gets the shade.


What was, or is the most amazing thing about your mom? Living or dead, mother or mother figure, take a few minutes and share with us.

My mother was self-confident, ambitious, and intelligent, but I think her best quality was probably her positive attitude. She was a hard worker and she always had a goal. Now that I look back, I can't recall anything ever getting her down. She liked to sing and she would sing while she ironed, or while she cooked a meal. She was ahead of her time in many ways and I was always proud of her.

My mother taught school for 38 years and for several of those years she taught in a rural one-room school. She drove over narrow mountain roads and when the weather was bad, she would drive as far as she could and walk the rest of the way. After my brother was born and we moved to town, she taught in a large elementary school, where she stayed until she retired.

Ironically, it was on this day, the 7th day of May, that my mother passed away. She was 81 years old.


By Maureen Hawkins:


Before you were conceived I wanted you
Before you were born I loved you
Before you were here an hour I would die for you
This is the miracle of life.









 


Mothers

By Amy (Fabulousfilly@aol.com)




A BABY BIRD FLEES THE NEST
NOTHING BUT THE BEST
ITS MOTHER, WISHES THIS
FOR EACH OF HER OFFSPRINGS


SOMTIMES THESE TURN OUT TO BE
NOT SO SPECIAL YOU SEE
WE ARE ALL HUMAN, MAKE MISTAKES
WE GIVE LOVE WE TAKE AND TAKE


OFFSPINGS GROW
AND SO AND SO
THEY LEAVE US WITH AN EMPTYNESS
COME ON NOW WE CAN ALL CONFESS


WE HAVE FELT IT WITHIN US
AND SO WE TRY NOT TO MAKE A FUSS
WE TELL THEM THAT WE ARE OK
WHEN THEY WISH US A HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY











 


Mother

By susi Taylor (Texaswishr@aol.com)




Mother, are you there? can you hear me?
it is said that time takes the pain away
but it's been sixteen years since you left
yet, I can still feel you near me


the pain never quite goes away, never quite leaves
I feel your presence everywhere
I see you in every room and in the yards
and my heart still grieves


you were the best Mother one could ever hope to know
just one word or a nod of your head
could calm an angry mind and bring forgiving thoughts
you weren't here long enough before you had to go


as long as memories stay here in my mind
you are not so far away from me
I go to where you are and talk to you
and I can leave the world without you,
behind,
for the moment











 


My Mother

By Jeanie (Mingo184@aol.com)




I lost my mother 9 yrs ago this past December. She was 88 years old. I was the only one in the room with her when she passed away. We, my brothers and I, kept her at home and had nursing care for her as she got weaker and slowly slipped away from us.

One thing about my mother was her deep Catholic faith. She knew she was dying, but never said anything, except when she pointed at a string of angels hanging in her bedroom doorway put there by my sister-in-law. She'd say "They're not listening to me. They're not letting me go."

My mother was born in this country but was raised in Poland. Grandma took her 3 children, one of who was Mom, back to Poland when Mom was 4. She had more children there but Mom was the only one who wanted to come back. Being born here, she was able to return without going through Ellis Island. It was a harrowing experience for her. She didn't speak English and she was sick the whole trip on the ship. She was all of 19 years old.

Here in the USA, she met my Dad, who was also Polish. They married and had a family of 3, with me in the middle between 2 brothers. Mom had a job she took in her 40's in a local silver factory. Dad had become ill and this necessitated her to find work. She worked at that job for 20 years. Though she had learned to speak and read English, she was unable to write it. But, she got along and, when I got my job with Eastern Air Lines, she went back to Poland on a discount in 1958 and saw her mother for the first time in 30 years. It must've been some reunion. She went back several times before Babci (that's Grandma to you non Poles..lol) passed away.

Mom had a philosophy in life. Her motto was "I'd rather be hurt than hurt somebody else." She was true to her word. Sometimes when someone would say something hurtful to her, she rarely gave an answer. She'd just look hurt and I would ask her later why she let that person do that to her. And, she'd repeat her motto. Mom was loved by everyone. She had a quick smile. She was helpful to her friends. She loved her family but, above all, she loved Jesus more. I think that's why, when she died, it was painless and peaceful.

Though, as mother and daughter, we sometimes clashed, towards the last years of her life, we became closer. I'd take her for drives in the fall to places that showed the beautiful Autumn colors. I didn't make reservations anywhere, we just drove and stopped when we found a decent motel. Years later, she'd tell me how she enjoyed those trips with me. She never worried about getting lost, she'd say, because of my good sense of direction.

I miss my mother very much. I miss her turkey stuffing, watching her puttering in the garden, even our arguing when we disagreed. She was there for me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. She drove me to my chemotherapy treatments and watched me go through the side effects. I treasure her more than anything for that alone. I know she is resting peaceful in the arms of the Lord. Her legacy to me is my faith in God. God Bless you, Mom, and I love you.










 


Mothers

By SWAMPETTA (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)




Being a mother has no time line.
It will last to your dying breath,
And probably beyond....


Giving birth is but a minute in time.
For the rest of your life
Is the commitment you make.


Watching a child grow
And learn to think and make decisions
And sometimes,,,mistakes...


Reminds you of the times you spent
Deciding what and who you would be.
But you'll always be a mother.


You may do it right,
You may do it wrong....but
You will always do it.


The ones that came before you,
The ones that will follow after you.
A line of mothers, stretching into eternity.











 


Mothers

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@msn.com)



a summer passes
mom and me forever in time
a lifetime ago



God called her home to be in a better place.
Heaven, a place filled with beauty and grace.
Her presence fills the halls with a warm glow.
Our lives live on in the seeds that we sow.
She is with me still in spirit and love.
I know she is in a better place somewhere above.


By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@aol.com)




My Mother was a "stay at home Mom", and that was a full time job - believe me. However, she did have a little part time job on the week-ends occasionally when I was in high school. My Dad was a trainman for the New York Central railroad. We had a comfortable but modest income. I was an only child, but my Dad was very strict, and I was not spoiled in any way. I am glad that I was taught the value of money and what was important and what was not.

My Mother had two purses that stand out in my mind. One was a summer purse that had rectangular plastic-type beads that were fastened in rows over the entire purse. It zipped on the top and had a handle. The other was the last purse she received for Christmas before she passed away. My Dad and I bought it for her, and it was black leather. She was so thrilled with it.

My Mother paid the bills and handled the money in our household. They made financial decisions on large items together. My Mother was very thrifty having come from a poor family of eight children.

My Mother bought what was necessary to have a nice home. She cooked and baked a lot, and nothing was spared on good meals. She did some sewing and loved to crochet. She worked very hard in the house. It was always neat, clean and orderly. She made it very comfortable and worked hard at it. The furnishings were modest but nice. I was never ashamed of my home or my parents. I loved my Mother very much. She was a good Mother with values and compassion. I lost her when I was 18, and I miss her still.


A Mother gives unconditional love.
A Mother is sent from heaven above.


Mother is a word I hold dear.
She holds a special place in our hearts,
and that is clear.


Mom, Mother, Mama - it matters not what the name.
A rose like no other would be the same.


When she is gone, a part of her lives on in you and me.
We have some of her traits that are plain to see.


Give her all your love while you may;
For she will be gone to heaven one day.










 


Tribute To My Mother

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)



Should I say life with Mother
Was a not sunny dream,
You would hate me for the saying
Or hate her for the doing,
So I'll say:


My mother was a lady
In every single way,
She was beautiful, I love her,
And miss her every day,
And then


My mother showed her love,
As she could say it not,
By making something she'd create,
From many talents she had got,
And I saved some.


I'll never forget one Christmas,
There were no presents on the floor,
And she came to me and said
"Come with me," and opened
The bedroom door.


On the bed she had laid
Two skirts of wool she'd made,
And crocheted hats to match,
In style, the most lovely shade,
And I adored them.


Tears well in my eyes,
For growing old I am more wise,
I understand her in my age,
Too late, for I was not a sage,
Mother, I love you










 


For All That Mother Did

By Mary (MusingByMary@aol.com)



Mother didn't graduate
with a "GOOD MOTHER" degree;
but, never failed to show
special love to brothers and me.


She didn't know Greek nor calculus
other foreign languages and such;
but mother knew the language
that kids always need so much.


The language of forgiveness
when we kids stepped out of line;
the hugs and kisses language
that no human can define.


That language that speaks kindness
that gives ~ and gives ~ and gives;
oh, mother knew the language
that taught us how to live.


The language of a paddle
mother knew without a doubt;
but we were better for it
for spankings surely sraightened out . . .


Our ways of misbehaving
when we thought she didn't see;
mother was not a Dr. Einstein
but, 'twas LOVE she spoke to me.


Mother didn't rule an empire
but was "QUEEN" of home and kids;
I'm so proud to honour her today
FOR ALL THAT MOTHER DID!!!



Mary Carter Mizrany©
May 3, 2007


HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all mothers
at Lara's Den:-)










 


Wrapped In A Mother's Love

By Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)



My Mother loved and took great joy in Mothers’ Day. For many, many years, she was the center of the festivities. At the root of her love for this day was her veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Her love for the Mother of God was genuine. Through her hard life I am certain that in her quiet moments, if there were any, she talked to Mary woman to woman as she swept the floor or as she kneaded pans of bread that she set out to rise, or as she washed our clothes on the scrub board and hung them out to dry.

Though May is Mary’s month, I believe that my mother always claimed it as her own! She literally glowed in May. That is how I remember her in my youth. As she felt secure and wrapped in her heavenly mother’s love, I likewise blossomed, secure in my earthly mother’s love. She knew every Marian hymn by heart and sang them while she worked. Her favorite was:

Bring flowers of the fairest, bring flowers of the rarest,
From garden and woodland and hillside and dale,
Our full hearts are swelling, our glad voices telling
The praise of the loveliest Rose of the vale!


O Mary, we crown thee with blossoms today,
Queen of the angels, Queen of the May!


Our voices ascending in harmony blending,
Oh thus may our hearts turn dear Mother to thee.
Oh thus shall we prove thee, how truly we love thee,
How dark without Mary life's journey would be!





My Mother on her
First Holy Communion Day - May 1912



She loved to tell of how she was chosen to crown the Blessed Mother in the annual May Crowning in the church. She wore her First Holy Communion dress made for her by Aunt Mary. Because she was so tiny, she said, they had to provide a stool for her to reach the Virgin’s head! When she entered the rest home many, many years later, she was given the honor of crowning the Blessed Mother. This time she remained seated.




My Mother crowns the Blessed Mother
at the Rest Home - May 1988



The the air was always perfumed with roses on Mothers’ Day when I was a youngster. Daddy would make sure we all wore a red rose to honor Mama. Then he would pin a white one on her. Her mother died when she was only nineteen. After Sunday Mass we spent the day on the grounds of the Sacred Heart Convent for the May Festival. The Benedictine nuns put on a grand celebration complete with the crowning of a May Queen and a maypole dance. Those were happy carefree days. I loved it when my mother’s old teachers made a fuss over her, reminiscing about her school days and how tiny she used to be.

One of my mother’s deepest sorrows was that her mother did not have the chance to know and to be a grandmother to her children. But her greatest joy was that she had the chance to be a grandmother to twenty-three beautiful grandchildren. She took delight in each and every one of them! And they loved her back a hundredfold. They loved going to Grandma’s house. To spend the night was a special treat.




151 Hermann Street
The house that was filled with my Mother's love!



When our children were small, weather permitting, we’d have our first picnic of the season in the park on Mothers’ Day. Aunt Dorothy made the best potato salad and could be depended on to have a great new cake recipe. Aunt Norma made the best deviled eggs. Evelyn made great fried chicken, and so forth. Each of us had our specialty! Our recipe books are still filled with favorite recipes from those occasions! In those days we were all very much “wrapped in a mother’s love!” Mothers’ Day was always a celebration!

Years flew by and family dynamics changed. Jobs took some to other parts of the country. Wedding bells and deaths took their toll. After Grandpa died, Grandma remained the center of activity at her house at 151 Herman Street. We’d drop by on Mother’s day and plant her porch boxes with petunias and feel the warmth of being wrapped in our mother’s love each time we visited. Sadly, one Mothers’ Day, the petunia boxes were planted for the very last time and our mother spent her remaining seven years in a rest home. It was now our turn to wrap her in the warmth of our love.

My mother gave me three priceless gifts. The first gift is that she taught me the meaning of unconditional love. The second priceless gift–she mentored me on motherhood. The third priceless gift–she taught me the joy of being a grandmother!









 


My Mother

By Helen Steiner Rice, and Submitted by Caren (caren_stevens@hotmail.com)



A Mother's love is something that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion and sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it or take that love away
It is patient and forgiving when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters even though the heart is breaking,
It believes beyond believing when the world around condemns,
And it glows with all the beauty of the rarest, brightest gems....
It is far beyond defining, it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret, like the mysteries of creation...
A many-spendored miracle man cannot understand
And another woundrous evidence of God's tender guiding hand.
`









 

 

 



Devious ( 5 Authors )

Scraps

Garden Haiku

Life Excites Me

There Are Not Enough

From A High Place ( 15 Authors)




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