Eighty Years Young

My mother turned 80 this month! To my delight and amazement, she agreed to sit for a photoshoot to commemorate the occasion. The black & whites were taken by my Dad fifty years ago in Arkansas. I (the cutie in #8) took the color shots last week in her garden. Isn’t she lovely?

Quick mother story. We moved to California when I was 9. A few days after the move, I made a friend at school and brought him over to play in our yard. We were making a lot of boy noise and my mom poked her head out of the front door to check on us. She said “hi” to my new friend and went back inside the house. I looked at my friend and he was frozen, still staring at the door. Then he turned to me and said “I didn’t know your momma was a movie star!” I said “what?” and we back to playing. I didn’t realize until several hours later that he was saying my mother was pretty. Real pretty. That was the first time in my life that I realized that my mother was a beautiful woman.

And at 80 years young, she still is.

My Mother
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My beautiful mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
My beautiful mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gaz'd upon my heavy eye,
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My beautiful mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My beautiful mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My beautiful mother.
~ Anne Taylor