Dear Reader,
Congratulations to Carol Gibbs, today's guest columnist, and the Third Place winner in this year's Write a DearReader Contest!
If you're looking for a specific book or article and the Ivy Tech Community College in Fort Wayne, Indiana doesn't have it on their shelves, Carol, a librarian who specializes in interlibrary loans, will track it down for you. "It's like a big treasure hunt!" Carol told me when I spoke with her on the phone. A librarian for 15 years, Carol loves her job, but she said, "I'm also looking forward to retiring this coming February. I'll have more time to pursue my writing."
In addition to more writing time, Carol will also have more free time to eat peanut butter and lettuce sandwiches. Yes indeed, when I asked Carol, "Tell me something a little quirky about yourself that I can share with readers," to my surprise this talented librarian has been eating her favorite--peanut butter and lettuce sandwiches, since the school cafeteria ladies introduced them to her when she was in grade school.
A grandmother to twin, 4-year-old grandsons (who look nothing alike), an accomplished librarian, a peanut butter and lettuce sandwich connoisseur and a gifted writer--thank you Carol, for sharing your story with us. -- Suzanne Beecher
The Almost Perfect Picture
It's the best picture I ever took of my mother.
She was a beautiful woman, but in the way of most children, I didn't see it. She was just Mom, the baker of the chocolate chip cookies. The one who firmly kept me on the path of kindness and politeness. The one who dabbed mercurochrome on my scraped knees and scrubbed mulberry stains from my feet. The one who expected me to put down my book and come help in the garden, whether I wanted to or not.
Even as a child, I realized that Mom had style. Her skills at the sewing machine meant that her clothes always fit a little bit better than any of the other ladies at church. Her hair was kept trimmed and curled. A tube of red lipstick was in every purse and jacket pocket. She even wore pedal pushers and cute blouses to pull weeds, during tractor duty, or while tending to any of the gazillion other chores constantly on our farm's to-do list.
Above all, she adored polka dots.
The age of the Instamatic camera arrived. Mom could do anything--except pose for a decent picture. Her eyes were inevitably closed. She'd be looking down instead of up. The shot would catch her at an unflattering angle. No picture ever captured her panache, her sense of humor, her golden soul.
Pictures from her younger days proved the camera had once loved her. Luscious black-and-white shots taken before her name changed to Mom showed her with dark hair long enough to curl about her shoulders. Shining eyes sparkled above tinted-pink cheeks. Often a flirty scarf was around her neck and fashionable earrings were clipped to her ears. Even in black-and-white, I knew the color on her lips was Fire Engine Red.
The years flew by. Suddenly Mom was 93.
It was just before Christmas. I didn't tell Mom I'd taken the day off from work. My out-of-town child had asked me to find some pretty flowers for Grandma. I couldn't wait to surprise her at her assisted-living apartment. I knew she'd be thrilled to see me and touched by her grandchild's thoughtfulness.
I walked into a party. Neighbors from our farm days, Mom's sister and a nephew, plus a cousin and his wife from my father's family were all crammed into the cozy space. As I was joyously welcomed into the mix, I realized I should've known she'd have company. Her memories were bright and she told stories from the past as well as the present with great gusto. A born hostess, her warmth and kindness drew everyone to her.
Beloved by all, she was.
After the crowd left and it was just us, I asked Mom to pose for a picture. She didn't want to, but I convinced her it was necessary so that Jules could see how much she loved the Christmas bouquet. I grabbed my phone and took several shots.
Unlike the old days of waiting for a roll of film to be processed, these pictures could be viewed immediately. They were good-- No, they were great. One in particular was the best picture I'd ever taken of my mother.
She held the flowers up next to her face. The snowflake in the arrangement glittered, but it wasn't as sparkly as her happy eyes. Her pale blue sweater showed off her fresh-from-the-beauty-shop silver-gray hair. She'd finally retired the Fire Engine Red lipstick, but her cheeks were still abloom.
Two weeks after Christmas, Mom passed away without warning. Using her strength as my guide, I cropped that last picture of her and told the funeral director to use it in her obituary.
The tears still come when I see it, but I'm happy, too. There's my perfect mom, on a perfect day, finally captured in that almost perfect picture.
It just needs some polka dots.
-- Carol Gibbs
Third Place, 2021 Write a DearReader Contest
To see the almost perfect photo Carol took of her mother, click here.
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
KIDSBUZZ: Click here to discover new books, "meet" the authors and enter to win.
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