Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

May 17, 2006

Today’s announcements

A happy birthday wish goes out to our writer Pamela Blaine, for all of us here at Storytime Tapestry – Cards can be sent to her email address: pamyblaine@blaines.us

Janice Finley’s aunt, Avis Tomerlin, becomes writer # 325 for Storytime Tapestry.  Avis does not have access to the computer, so please send your welcome directly to Janice, and she will make sure she gets it.

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Mother’s Day Stories

~**~**~

Momma

By Nell Berry

lberry001@centurytel.net

            My Momma was a very sweet soft spoken lady, until she got angry. Then you better watch out. That Irish temper of hers was something to be dealt with. That’s what my brother and sisters always said. But I never experienced that part of her personality; she was always my sweet Momma to me. Of course, I was only nine years old when she passed away. So, that may explain it.

Nevertheless, she was to me what a mother should be. She was always there for us.

When I was about two years old and contracted the measles, she was there for me, holding me and rocking me while my temperature rose.

When I was about four and went into the chicken house, which we used as a bathroom, because we had no out house or indoor bathroom; no indoor plumbing; she was there to clean me up when I fell backwards off the chicken roost.

            When I came home and asked her if I could go to the library across the river from where we lived to see a movie they were showing for the school children, she was there; as any good mother would, she said “No” because it was too far for an eight year old to go and she was well aware of the dangers. Never mind that I paid no attention to her and nearly got myself in trouble with my Dad because I had disobeyed my mother. But she was there to protect me; to give me guidance and counsel.

            When I was growing up, she was not there. She was very ill most of the time when I was little and passed away before I was really old enough to appreciate her. But I can tell you, it is no fun growing up without a mother. I cried myself to sleep many times just because I needed her to talk to as a teenager. I needed her advice and counsel many times as I became an adult and many times after I became an adult I needed her.

            Mothers are an essential part of our lives. Mothers are the backbone of society and they should be given much more appreciation, by their spouses and their children as well as society as a whole.

            Someone once said, “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.” That pretty much says it all. Mothers are the most valuable asset a nation can have; theirs is the most important job of all; raising future generations; future George Washingtons, Abraham Lincolns, John Quincy Adams, Andrew Jacksons and every doctor, scientist, astronaut and CEO that is born of woman; every carpenter, electrician, plumber, teacher, and most of all Mothers that was ever born. It all leads back to Momma.

            So, this Mother’s Day show your mother how much you love and appreciate her.

Bio: Nell Berry, published author, poet, songwriter, chief cook and bottle washer, seamstress, nurse and MOTHER.

~**~**~

Submitted by Janice Finley

finleyj@otelco.net

The Heirloom

By Avis Tomerlin  { a true story written by my aunt}

Ardmore, Tennessee  USA

I always wondered why Mama left me her glass rolling pin when she died. I had four sisters who loved to bake, but I didn't. Still, there was the little note tucked into Mama's Bible at the book of Proverbs saying that she wanted me to have it.
    Originally that glass rolling pin had been a vinegar bottle. Daddy brought it home on Mama's birthday back in 1933 when the Depression was on. He had gone to town to get some seed on credit because, due to the drought, we hadn't made a crop the previous year.
    With only a dime in his overalls' pocket, Daddy stopped at a carnival to buy Mama a Kewpie doll. However, he said later he knew Mama would think it foolish of him to spend his last cent on something that wasn't useful, so he bought the rolling pin filled with vinegar instead. When he got home he tip-toed into the kitchen holding it behind him and slipped up on Mama while she was stirring something on the stove. Placing one hand over her eyes, he changed his voice and said, "If you guess who this is, you get a prize."
    Of course, Mama knew it was Daddy, but she guessed "Franklin Delano Roosevelt," and got the prize anyway.
    Mama was pleased. "It's such a pretty rolling pin," she said, smiling, "and I can use the vinegar, too." She kissed Daddy on the cheek.
    Mama made cinnamon rolls, cookies, doughnuts, pie crusts, and biscuits for breakfast every morning. When my sisters and I heard Mama scraping the flour from her dough board with her baking-powder-can biscuit cutter, we knew we'd better get up or we'd miss getting a hot biscuit.
    Best of all was when we'd get off the school bus, hungry as coyote cubs, and find Mama baking cinnamon rolls. I'd unroll one bit by bit to get the full flavor of the sticky insides, and slowly savor every bite. I still think that's the best way to eat a cinnamon roll.
    Mama took pride in baking good things, and never a guest left our house without first "having a bite of something" (her words) she'd baked. Friends and relatives by the dozens visited us, but I didn't attribute that to Mama's hospitality and her genius for making folks feel at home. I only saw that she worked hard and spent a lot of time cooking.
    "When I grow up," I thought (and often said aloud), "I'm not going to spend much time in the kitchen. None of that drudgery for me. I'll live in a city and I'll join some clubs. I'll play bridge and maybe golf."
    And as we girls grew up and got married, that's the way things turned out.
    Because it was dear to Mama, I wanted to keep the rolling pin, but what would I do with it? I mounted it on a framed, cloth-covered background, stuffed it with miniature plastic fruit, and hung it on my kitchen wall.
    My bridge and golf friends oohed and a ahed over my heirloom and said how clever I was to think of that special way of decorating my kitchen.
    During these years, my husband and I had two lovely, lively boys. Overnight, it seemed, they grew to school age. They were hardly any trouble at all. They always played at some friend's house and seldom brought anyone home with them. They loved to visit one particular friend who lived down the street. They spent so much time there that, even with my golfing and club meetings, I missed them and I was lonely.
    One day, when they persistently begged to go to Bobby's house, I asked, crossly, "Why do you always want to go there?"
    "Well, his Mom makes cinnamon rolls and cookies and stuff," the oldest said wistfully.
    "And we help," his brother added, proudly.
    I let them go and, as I turned to the kitchen, my eye fell on my ingenious wall decoration. For a long moment I stood there staring at the rolling pin and thinking. Cinnamon rolls, he'd said.
    Suddenly, in the stillness that enveloped me, my heart cried out, "Oh, Mama, now I know."
    Hurriedly, I took the vinegar bottle rolling pin down, dismounted it, and washed it. Then I dusted off my cookbook and turned to "Breads, Yeast." There ought to be a cinnamon roll recipe here . . . .
    As the dough was rising, I wanted to read again Mama's note willing me her rolling pin. I'd left it where I'd found it in her Bible at the book of Proverbs. I took her Bible from the bookcase and opened it. Funny, I hadn't noticed before that the note was at Chapter 31. As I scanned the page, verses 27 and 28 leaped out at me as if they have underlined in red: "She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed."
    Now, as I cleaned the dough board and put the rolling pin away, I repeated Proverbs 31:27, 28. I often say those verses to myself since I learned the real best use for Mama's rolling pin.
    Just then I heard one son call, "Hey, Mom, we're home." And above the happy chatter of a bunch of kids, the other one yelled, "I smell cinnamon rolls! Are they ready?"
    "They are. I'm glad you're home," I answered. And I murmured, "Thank you, Mama. Thank you!"

~**~**~

Mother’s Day Poetry Section

~**~**~

Bring Me the Babies
Joan Clifton Costner

Bring me all the babies
That want to go to sleep,
Or those who want to pat-a-cake,
Or ones with cheeks so pink.

Bring me the crying babies,
To sing away with song,
To soothe away their cares and fears.
(They won’t be babies long.)

Time slips away and yesterday

Is, suddenly, distantly passed.
It walks so quiet, by your side.
We can’t make time last.

Babies love the melodies

And vibration of our voices.
Oh, bring me, quick, the babies

Before they have other choices!

Bring me the hugging babies
That just have learned to give a kiss.
The sweet slobbery little kisses
I’d never want to miss.

A big bear hug would bring me down
And I would rock for hours.
A lovable, sleepy, baby is
Far better than cut flowers.

Lord, give me a song for the babies, on earth,
That have heard the sounds of war.
Let me hold them on my lap

And sing 'til the fighting’s o’er.

Let me quiet their little hearts
And send all their fears away,
Teach them the Name of Jesus,
And, especially, how to pray!

© 2004 by Joan Clifton Costner

jody@ptsi.net

~**~**~

Loving One of These

Joan Clifton Costner

Though she longed for her own children,

God supplied a steady flow;

And her life was filled with youngsters

As the years would come and go.

Gently taught she of the Savior;

Little hearts received with joy!

Steadily she wisely counseled

With a young and wayward boy.

Little ones with no attention

Fell into the lady’s plans,

And she loved and guided gently

Trusting God would understand.

Children need a loving Mother

Who has time to listen well;

Who can watch their face intently

As their stories they do tell.

Though her loving arms were holding

Children other than her own

Still the mother love was given,

Still the seeds of love were sown.

Not to one was she blood mother;

But I wonder how God sees -

Is it birthing makes a mother?

Or is it loving one of these?

Joan Clifton Costner

jody@ptsi.net .

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com
http://www.heavenlypoetry.com

~**~**~

My  Beloved in JESUS....

Tuesday, May 16th, I will be admitted to Tri City Hospital.  I am asking that you start as of Monday, May 15th to NOT send me any e-mail until I notify you. I do not want to be bombarded with mail and not be able to read it and then come home and have hundreds of e-mails thus frustrating me and causing me to become ill again.  Stress and frustrating are two of the catalysts that cause extreme pain in my body, so this is why I am asking for you to delete me out of your address book until I send you an e-mail telling you to put me back in again.  THANKS so much for understanding and for praying for me while I am in the hospital.  That the LORD would give the doctors HIS Divine Wisdom and Revelation Knowledge to do the right battery of tests to determine what is going on in my  body to cause all these so called problems.  I need this pain to CEASE.  it IS more than my body can bear and HE knows it.  It has made me so weak that I have not been able to function for two months.  I do not want to go into a nursing home and give up my living in my own home.  I AM too young. THANKS for your prayers and LOVE.

In HIM,

Barbara

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnson - moderator