26 March, 2015

The Rite of Spring



In this Rite of Spring time of year when Mother Nature seems to have little control over her thermostat, I can hear my flesh and blood mother reciting, "Spring has sprung. The grass has riz. I wonder where the warm weather is." She did this every year she lived. Of course when my own daughter/best friend was born she got the poem in duet from her grandmother and her mother. One of the greatest gifts I've ever been bestowed was to know my mother and my daughter when we were all adults. We were, naturally, at varying stages of adulthood, but we were women at the same time.
The theory about certain qualities and traits skipping generations proved true for us. While I'm not mean or vindictive, my mother and my daughter were born with the capacities of kindness, patience and generosity in which I'm somewhat lacking. I am the mayo in a Great Women's Sandwich. By the time you read this, I'll have called my daughter and our Rite of Spring will once again be completed.

Dale