The best Grandparent story ever told...

 I am 1/16 Cherokee.

     In a previous story I told you about the time I spent a day with Grandpa John and his Ham radio. It was in this same space that he told me a story. It was a wild and fantastical account and I will tell it to you now.

     As the story goes, my great-great Grandmother was a baby when she traveled in the back of a covered wagon to Oklahoma. During this wild rush for land in Oklahoma,  settlers faced tough conditions with plenty of Chaos.

    Somewhere along the way, her parents, my Great-Great Great Grandparents died. My Great Great Grandmother, a baby at the time, was taken in and raised by a Cherokee tribe. She married a Cherokee, and had a child, my Great Grandmother. That person would be 1/2 Cherokee. That made my Grandpa John 1/4 Cherokee, my Mother 1/8 Cherokee, and me 1/16.

     My Grandfather looked Native American. No question about it. I wish I had a picture of his parents. My Aunt Kay and my Mother were both told over they years that they looked like they had Native American blood. My Aunt Nancy did too.

     And now...

     I have told this story many times over the years, and I really do recall Grandpa telling me that the Indians scalped and killed the parents of the baby in the wagon, but as I did some research, I realized their desths were more likely a tradgic accident. 

     I have also been known to exaggerate for the sake of good story, so I often told people in the telling that my GG Grandmother was taken into the tribe and married a great and handsome Indian Chief.  (This could be true.)

     But now, as I write this story down for the first time, I have thought long and hard about the story Grandpa told me that day. The truth of it. And I have done a bit of research into the Cherokee Indian tribe.'

     I found that they were mostly peaceful people. I also learned that the deaths during the Oklahoma land run were mostly from accidents, sickness and fights over the Cherokee land.

     And so now I'm now rethinking that moment in Grandpa's story. And this time,  I'm picturing a young, handsome, (soon to be Chief) riding by on his horse when he hears a tiny cry. And as he searches the wagon crash, he finds a tiny girl who appears to have survived. It appears to him also, that her parents had not. 

     I'm thinking that this young strong warrior climbed off his horse, picked up the little child, and took her home. Maybe he waited for her as she grew beautiful. Maybe he loved her.

     And,  as I pieced together this story again, I

saw how my past ties me to something bigger. More mysteries that I'm still unraveling.

I am 1/16 Cherokee.

*Apparently there are some ancestral Cherokee's that have red hair and blue eyes because of visits from Vikings. People believe they were landing on the southern coast of America before Columbus and traveled North. And... I'm pretty sure I have one of those.

A rainbow in the sky and words on my heart...

     We all have those moments. Those things that happen that absolutely change us.  Sometimes they're tragic, sometimes they are powerfully beautiful, like when you first hold your baby in your arms. And sometimes, you simply don't know what to call them, you only that you know you will never be the same after they happen. My revelation was one of those last ones, and it was powerful, so I planted a memorial stone so that I would always remember. I never wanted to forget this very clear moment that I had with God.  

    I had been in a season of waiting. Waiting for what, I did not know. But in faith I was waiting still. I was no longer writing my great American novel. God had won that wrestling match as I knew he would. But he let me fight it out with him for many rounds. When it was over, I laid on the rug in my living room in a heap of tears. I was drained and sad, but I knew how much I was loved and I absolutely believed that God had something else for me. So that was that. 

      Several months later, I had just spent a week with my sister in Dallas and was driving home from the airport, when God's presence came on me so powerfully that I had to pull over to the side of the road. It's hard to explain God's presence, so I'm not going to try, but quiet tears ran down my face as I glanced at the clock and realized that my sister Kay, and her daughter Abbi, who I had just left in Texas, were probably getting baptized at that very moment. The presence of God coming to me at that very moment. Wow.  

     "I want you to write again." God's words, so clear, brought me out of my prayer and I opened my eyes. What? The words had been so clear. Did I just heard God's voice? 

     On the windshield in front of me, were raindrops, and behind them, a sunny rainbow filled the sky. Tears rolled over my cheeks.  "Call it, The Glory Road. And I want you to paint." 

     These words were not audible, but they could not have been more clear. It was like He'd written them across my heart.   
     Now, as I sit down to share this, I still can't wrap my head around the place I find myself. God's presence continues to overwhelm me at times though, and at this moment I find this whole experience very hard to describe. Call what, "The Glory Road?"  I  wondered. What is that supposed to be? And paint what? I couldn't remember the last time I'd painted anything. Ever. 

     So I sat with it. I planted the memorial stone. And then, for several day in a row, I went back and sat there. Sat quietly with that moment of knowing God spoke to me. I was excited to write again, but confused about what that meant. So I just thanked Him and waited. 

     Later that week, I was working on my Bible study for my Fri. meeting, and I had this idea. The Glory Road? The road to Glory? I pondered this for a bit, and picked back up my Bible. How many times is the word Glory is used in Scripture, I wondered? So I looked it up. 

     Over 600 times. 376 times in the Old testament, and 230 times in the New Testament. Was this it, I wondered? Does God wants me to trace the word Glory through Scripture and write about it. I was suddenly very excited. With a bit more research, I found out that the word itself, glory, has many meanings and can be difficult to translate from the original languages of  Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek. I also learned that it can refer to: God's greatness, worth and value, how we can be changed, a synonym for heaven, an adjective that gives honor, dignity, and majesty to God, and is sometimes its a verb. 

     Of course it is, I thought. 

     Glory is often used to describe God's majesty and greatness, which is reflected in His creation and His people. Yes! God's creation of nature has always brought me to a place of worship. I must be on the right track. 

     And so now...I had a plan. My work was cut out for me, but the excitement I had filled me with energy and I took it on with a crazy new fervor. I used a program that told me what language the word glory came from in each place I found it as I traced it though the Bible. It was exciting and the pages filled as the words flowed. I shared with my friends in my Bible Study group what I was doing and why. They encouraged me and prayed for me. We even went through several of my Chapters around the table. 

     I was full. 

     Long story short, I never finished tracing "glory" through Scripture, because it wasn't about the finishing line, it was about the journey God was took me on. I spent an intimate year with him. The Bible I used during that time of tracing glory, still has all the page tab stickers with all the earmarks and all the printed translations slid between the pages. I will never take them out, because they represent another memorial stone. That time in my life was so precious to me. God healed something in me during that year I walked so close beside Him. I got filled back up with Faith. That time reminded me of who He is and who I am in Him. 

     And it was that time in my life that transitioned into the stories and pictures you will find in this book. I realized that my life was already full of his Glory. He'd been weaving it into my spirit and heart heart since my earliest childhood, and so I began to write my stories. 

     This became my Glory Road. And it all belongs Him. He is after all, the greatest ever writer of stories. 

     And so...may our story, (the one God wrote for me) bless you, and may you feel His presence in these pages. 

     

     

        

A Country Home to remember

     The years of life and love there. Oh the memories. Oh the messes. Oh... the laughter and the love! 

     It's where the seasons of quiet and beautiful chaos were imprinted deep inside us. Here, we slowed down, breathed deep, praised God, and really began to see. In the slowing and in the quiet it's where I also began to listen and hear. Not just God's voice, but the gentle sound of the creek, the frogs, the bats, and the breeze.

    It's where my husband got his first two English lab puppy brothers and where they met their sister Onyx, and their cousin Gus.

    It's the season where my daughter became a mother, and then a mother again, and again once more. Three boys, two years apart. 

     It's where I got to watch her motherhood form and grow, and where she got to watch me fall in love with her boys. The time she and I got to spend together in that home with those babies....  It was simply the most precious of things. 

    It was here, where my son brought me baby turkey's for a house warming gift and where he'd jump and hang from the rafters in the den. It's where he made a creek new with his father as they turned it into a babbling brook. It's where he swam with dogs on his back in the pool, and where he climbed to the top of the windmill to fix it. 

    It's where our youngest redhead daughter read books on the back porch, let baby lizards trek up her arms and took black and white photos on a walk to the creek. Its where she pulled wagons full of apples from the orchard to the porch. It's where she became an aunt, and cut all her nephews hair. 

    It's where I had my first real long Christmas and went a little crazy. I love Christmas and decorating for Christmas, and I now had a home that begged me to do it. So... I had a tree in almost every room. Candles in every window. 

    It's where every Spring's new life bloomed with flowers that held the promises of fruit. And it's where I learned to garden. I picked sour cherries from our tree and by year 3, I learned the perfect way to pit them. I used my finger and became a pro. I am not a baker, but once a year I became one. And those Father's day ready, Cherry pies, were not only beautiful, they were delicious.  And if you came to our house when the cherry's were ripe, we'd put you on a ladder and give you a bowl.

     It's where sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews, aunt's and uncles and cousins loved and laughed and made special memories. 

     It's was where the Mother daughter Christmas parties began. And the baby showers, and the Easter feasts, and the Super bowl parties, and the Weddings. Oh... the Weddings. 

     It's where I became Mamo and rocked three sweet baby boys. I can still smell them and feel them cuddle into me if I close my eyes. "Lullaby and goodnight, with pink roses delight, with lillies overhead is my baby's wee bed. Close your eyes now and rest, let your slumber be blessed." I miss singing that song at naptime.

     Later It's where we raced these same three boys around the outside of the house to tire them out, and where I supervised three brother baths that had me laughing until I cried. "Oh I wish I was a fishy in the sea."

      Its where Papa would take three clean pajamaed boys and settle them in for snuggles and a movie so I could take a break. And it's also where Papa raked up huge piles of golden leaves so we could jump in them. 

     It's where we played in the dirt box and sandbox and garden. 

     It's where brother number one named me. I had him for a long time before his brother number two came along, so he was my best buddy. It's embarrassing how many pictures I have of this child. 

      It's also here that brother number two ran and got all the ripe strawberries from the garden before he even came into the house. And it's where I followed him to the pond every time he went that direction because I knew he would fall in. One day he did. He was the only one. It's also where he climbed so high up a tree that it scared me, and Papa wasn't home. And he always picked flowers for his mother, and told me once that I looked beautiful.

     It's where the third baby boy brought tears of redemption to his Papa's eyes and healed something in his heart when we heard he was coming. And It's where I was so in love with chubby hands and feet that I couldn't stop snuggling him and thought I might die from it.

     It's where three boys became warriors. The Lion, The Wolf, and The Bear. 

     It's where Paul and I took long walks. It's where we had our forever favorite dates. Long afternoons climbing back roads with a picnic in the Rhino. 

     It's where little hands dripping with creek water were held up with eyes of wonder, as little boys showed me the shiny treasures inside.

      It's were my baby cows were born twice a year along, "My Road home." And where they came over to say Hi when I stopped and parked. 

     It's where I saw more stars than I ever knew existed, and when I found out was dark really was. 

     It's where Mount Tom lived right outside my front door and became mine.

     And it was here, that I became the hostess  to nests of baby birds every Spring. I remember the first time I saw nest with eggs. I was so excited. And then, when they hatched, I could stand on my kitchen stool and see the babies. The motion of my moving close made them open their mouths thinking they were being fed. And Mama squawked at me sometimes, but I think she knew I loved them. We worked it out too, because she had more babies in the same planter box the next year. Watching all of that, was precious to me. Paul and I used to sit on the porch and watch Mama feed them. Dad sometimes flew in too. And one night we sat as both parents squawked at the babies to fly to them in a near by tree. Two babies were brave enough and did. The third was never made it out of the nest that night, but in morning he was gone.

     It's where the sunrises and sunsets took my breath away and where winters always came, at least once, and turned everything stunningly Hallmark card beautiful. It's where there were Mountains and the promise in the orange light of morning.  Its the place where I planted memorial stones deep in my heart.

    I know. I will never forget. I will always remember.

A first place trophy

      I was 10 when I took Baton lessons. My teacher's name was Linda. She was the niece of someone Mom knew, and she was the first person I'd ever met, or seen for that matter, that had a hair lip. During the car ride with Mom to my first lesson, she told me about it so I wouldn't be surprised. She explained that is was a type of birth defect. 

     Soon after. Mom pulled into a driveway where my teacher Linda was waiting . Her garage doors were open, and the garage was all set up for my lesson. Mom and I both got out of the car. Linda came up and introduced herself and we all said, "Hello."  "How about I do a routine for you?" she said, "So you can see what I do. Then we can get started."

     Linda was amazing. There were ribbons and trophy's and photos of her in costumes, all over the shelves and walls of the garage. I don't know how old she was, but I was mesmerized watching her twirl.  Shortly after that, Mom said goodbye to us both and left.

     I'd received my baton for Christmas the year before and had taught myself a few things already, so I showed her. "I think you're going to be good at this," she said, and I smiled.

     I took lessons that whole Summer, and into the following school year. A few months in, I was with Linda and a few other students, and she was teaching us a core marching routine for a local parade. 

     After Mom pulled in the driveway to pick me up, Linda told Mom that she wanted to talk to her, and could she wait a few minutes. Mom said she could. After the others girls left,  I heard Linda tell Mom about an upcoming competition. She said she wanted to teach me a routine for a solo. A solo. I thought? For competition?

     In the car on the way home, I asked Mom about it. She looked at me and smiled. "Not sure about that honey," she said, "We'll have to see. I need to talk to Dad first."

     Over the next week, I overheard Mom and Dad talk more than once about my possible participation in the competition. There was an entrance fee, and I would need a new costume for the solo and more lessons, and all that costs money. "Linda says Pam has talent," Mom told Dad, "And girls Pam's age rarely do Solo's. Linda thinks she could win."

     When I went to my next lesson, I was learning my Solo routine. It was exciting and like nothing I'd ever experienced before. My routine was choreographed to the song, "Stars and stripes forever," and suddenly my baton was flying into the air while spinning, and I was catching it. Then it spun around my neck and around my knees where, with a flip of my thumb it went back into the air in one swift amazing movement.

     "I think you're ready for a double," Linda announced as we planned the routine's ending. She had showed me her triple after practice a few times. It had won her a first place trophy years before. So we practiced the double. I had to flip the baton off my thumb then spin around twice before catching it. Done right, the baton fell right back into my hand like magic and the routine went on. But if my throw was crooked, I had to look for the baton at the end of my spin which usually found it's way to the floor. I practiced and practiced until I caught it much more often than it fell.

     During this time, Mom was working on my costume. It was light pink and the front had a pattern of shiny pink and white sequins in a scroll. She spent hours and hours every evening sewing them on by hand. 

     Finally the day of my competition arrived. My siblings all stayed home with Dad and wished me luck as Mom and I headed out by ourselves.

     When we got there, Mom signed me in and we sat and watched many performances take place before the solos began. Then, it was almost time. The girls who went first were older than me. They were teenagers and they were so good. 

     Finally my name was called, and I stood up. I looked at Mom for one last reassuring smile, and she squeezed my hand.

     I marched up to the judging table with my knees high and smiled. Then I took a deep breath and nodded. That meant I was ready for my music. My routine was almost perfect.     

    Near the end when I did my double, my throw wasn't completely straight and I fumbled to catch the baton which hit the ground. Linda had told me over and over what to do if that happened. She said, "Just pick it up, smile and finish strong." So that's what I did.

     Afterward, Mom said we should stay for awards but I couldnt imagine why. I had dropped my baton after all. But Mom and I sat on the floor on Gym mats while names were called. Solo winners were always called last.

     One of the girls that I watched earlier won  a second place ribbon with big medallion on it. They hung it around her neck. And then I heard them say, "And in our last solo category today we have a first place winner. She was our youngest solo competitor. Pamela Gales, we have a trophy for you." 

     I looked at Mom. Her eyes lit up and she nudged me. "Well, go get it." she said smiling, and so I did.

     As it turned out, "I was the only girl to compete for solo in the 10 and under category. I understand now, after thinking about all of this again as I write this story, that Linda and Mom had this figured out all along. Linda did see something in me and Mom and Dad wanted me to succeed. 

     I had to quit my lessons after that because they were too expensive to continue them any more. But I knew I had been given a special gift  and I loved every minute of the journey.

     And to this day, every time I hear the song, "Stars and Stripes Forever," I can close my eyes and remember my routine. Muscle memory is an extraordinary thing. So who knows, maybe I'll take it up again.

     Post script note...

     Two summers ago, while camping with my family my grandson found a piece of wood and began carving points on the tips. It was the perfect size and shape of a baton. "Let me see that",  I said. And when he gave it to me, it began to float through my fingers. I couldn't believe how it came back so easily. 

    I had told my kids and grandsons that I used to be a baton twirler, and they had seen a grainy home movie of me in my living room at age ten, but this was different. 

     My son saw me twirling the stick though the window of his camper. "Wow Mom! Look at you." 

    I twirled that stck quite a bit on that camping trip, but Reed had carved the ends very sharp. My grandsons were worried I was going to hurt myself every time I dropped it, but I knew that I had made an impression. 

     So, last summer, when we were all getting together to camp again, I brought a real baton and had it shipped to my sisters house. I spent a week in Auburn before the trip to Lake Tahoe, and practiced every day. I surprised my Mom one night with a performance to the same tune as my Solo, "Stars and Stripes forever." I will never forget her smile or her laughter as she watched me. 

     And as for the rest of the family at the camp... 

     More smiles, more laughter, much clapping, and so much love!

     Muscle  memory is an amazing thing.

Behemoth and Leviathan

       I've always been fascinated about the personal and long conversation that Job has with God in the bible book of Job.  In Job chapters 38 and 39, they have quite a conversation about animals. God speaks to Job about the lion, the raven, the wild goat and donkey, the ostrich, the horse, and the hawk.  

      But it's the other animals in Chapter 40 that got my attention. During this part of their conversation, God reminds Job of his power over a creature he calls Behemoth.  God describes it this way.  In verse 15 God says that it is a plant eater. In verse 21 God says it lives near water. In verses 16-18 God says its very strong and muscular. Verse 19 states, It ranks first among the works of God. Verse 19 says, only it's creator can master it, and that it's massive tail sways like a cedar.  

     I was so fascinated by this, that I dug a little deeper.  After reading several commentaries on the subject of this creature, I was more confused. Some Bible scholars say that God was referring to what we now know as a hippo or elephant. However, God’s description above does not fit either of those animals.  Hippos have short stubby tails, and Elephants tails are thin and whip like. Hence the mystery began. 

     Then, in Chapter 41 of Job, God speaks of a great creature he calls “Leviathan,” and God goes into very great details in describing this creature to Job. And in Psalm 104, this mysterious creature is spoken of again.  A whale?  A giant crocodile?  Some Bible scholars say, "Yes." 

     However, I want you to be the judge.  Here are the passages of God’s words to Job describing the Leviathan in a few different versions.

     Job 41:18-22 KJV   By his neesings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.  Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out.  Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron.  His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.  

     NIV    “Its snorting throws out flashes of light; its eyes are like the rays of dawn.  Flames stream from its mouth; sparks of fire shoot out.  Smoke pours from its nostrils as from a boiling pot over burning reeds.  Its breath sets coals ablaze, and flames dart from its mouth.”

     ESV   “His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn.  Out of his mouth go flaming torches; sparks of fire leap forth.  Out of his nostrils comes forth smoke, as from a boiling pot and burning rushes.  His breath kindles coals, and a flame comes forth from his mouth.”

     Job 41:31-32 KJV  “He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.  He maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary.”

     NIV   “He makes the depths churn like a boiling caldron and stirs up the sea like a pot of  ointment.

 Behind him he leaves a glistening wake; one would think the deep had white hair.  

     ESV     “He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.  Behind him he leaves a shining wake; one would think the deep to be white-haired.”

     I think God’s description of Behemoth sound more like a dinosaur than a hippo, and the Leviathan?  Come on! The wat God speaks about flames and smoke pouring from it's mouth?  I'd say it sounds more like a the stuff of legends. A powerful, glistening, fire breathing, dawn-eyed dragon. perhaps?  

     And lastly, God spoke to Job about 12 animals that walk the earth today. So it is certainly a mystery why God went into such detail describing the Behemoth and Leviathan. Maybe he's reminding Job that there are things in this world, creatures, even,  that are beyond human understanding, things only He can control. I believe these creatures are exactly what God says they are?

    Thinking about these creatures makes me realize how vast and mysterious God's creation really is. so as for me, I’ll be looking for the glowing white wakes of the Leviathan in the oceans of Heaven, because I really, really, wanna see this guy!  Do you think I might get to ride on him?  

Grandpa John and his Ham radio

  

    In the garage of Grandpa Harding's house was something I'd never seen before. Looking back, I know that he did not live in that house very long, because I only remember going there with Mom a few times. Both of these times though, he made a big impact on my childhood. I think that he had moved back to Enid because he was trying to get Grandma to take him back, but she never did. My grandfather was an alcoholic for most of his adult life. This season though, however short lived,  was a sober phase, and during this season he showed me something I'll never forget, and I got to know my Grandpa. 

     During this visit, Grandpa took me out to the garage where he had set up his Ham Radio.  I had never seen one before. In the corner was a big desk and chair with several box shaped things stacked on top of each other. There were switches, toggles, and lights on these boxes. And in front of it all,  was a big microphone. The garage smelled oily and dusty, and it was dim, so Grandpa had to turn on some lights. Then he pulled a chair over for me, and we he sat down in front of all his stuff. I watched as he toggled some levers, and tapped some buttons. Lights came on and static rattled through the speaker, then Grandpa spoke into the microphone and signed on saying something, this is  "W5BGX. Anybody out there? Then a voice responded. This is KA5DEF. Then there was more static and  rumbling, then Grandpa said again, "This is W5GBX. You got me good buddy."

     I did some research on the Ham radio call signs and found out that the number in the middle of the call sign, in this case, a 5, was their territory location. This covered all of Oklahoma and Texas as well as New Mexico, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi. A big territory. I listened, as Grandpa then asked where the trucker was that day. What highway and State, and where they were going. They'd talk about weather and traffic and accidents along the road. Tornado's and severe thunderstorms were always a big deal in the summertime. They sometimes told Grandpa about their rig trouble, or someone else's rig trouble, or about hitchhiker they picked up, and so on.

     Grandpa's friend group were mostly truckers and other Ham radio operators. After the conversations Granpa had with truckers on the road, he'd reach out to friends group and let them know about traffic, storms, and accidents. "10 4 Good Buddy" was said often between them. Grandpa had cards printed with his call sign on it and he gave me one that day. I still have it.

     As a young girl, I was completely fascinated. This was way before computers or smart phones. The only communication we had back then were telephones that hung on the wall with long curly cords,  so this thing that Grandpa communicated on was like magic to me. I was out there with him long enough that Mom checked on me twice. She found me both times in a chair next to him with a smile on my face so she let me stay. 

     Dying to talk myself, I finally asked Grandpa if I could talk on the microphone to somebody. He explained to me then, that Ham radio operators took their jobs quite seriously. The radio was not a toy. But after a minute or so, Grandpa smiled and told the next man he talked too that his Granddaughter was sitting in with him today and asked him if she could say, "Hi."

      The man on the radio then said, "10 4 Good Buddy. A Okay." Grandpa nudged me like, "Go ahead." I honestly don't remember what I said to him, or what he said to me. I didn't talk very long, but at the end I remember signing off the way I heard Grandpa do it. "This is W5BGX over and out."

    This visit with Grandpa, and the next one I had were special to me because we got to know each other. He shared something he loved with me on the first one, and he told me a great and fabulous story on the second. I had his undivided attention on these days, and every little girl wants days like that with her grandpa.  

     And so... that day in his garage learning about the Ham Radio and listening to him talk to truckers is probably my favorite day with a Grandparent.

     "And this is Little P at W5BXG over and out."

The Avon lady

     Being a young girl in 1964 was a moment in time. I knew it, even as I lived it, but the reminders of it as an adult, watching the series, "Mad Men," brought the memories flooding back. My family did not live in the ritzy world of,  "Mad Men," but the Ads, commercials, jingles, and clothes of that time resonate deeply in me.

     We had so many magazine subscriptions. I remember McCall's, Redbook, Ladies home Journal and Time. They all arrived about the same time each month and I'd run to the mailbox eagerly anticipating them. Mom would always hand over the McCall's to me first, because inside, was Betsy. She was  a monthly paper doll who could be punched out of the pages along with her new clothes. I kept all the Betsy's and their wardrobes in a shoe box under my bed.     

     I  was the oldest of three girls, my two sisters, 3 and 5 years younger, were usually napping when the Avon lady knocked at the door every other Wed. afternoon, so it was I who followed she and Mother into the living room.

      I thought she was so sophisticated and beautiful. She always wore a fancy skirt suit, gloves and hat, and I remember watching her pull her gloves off, one finger at a time, and lay them gently down with feminine hands of polished shiny fingernails.  She would then remove her hat, and say, "Hi Mary, "How are you?", as she sat it down upon the sofa table. It was when she adjusted her fabulous big makeup cases at her feet, that I knelt beside it.  

      The case was full of everything a woman needed to be beautiful. Eye shadows, rouge, powders, tubes of lipstick. And in the bottom pull out tray lay the tiniest treasures, little white tubes of lipsticks and tiny vials of shiny polish. I sat starry eyed as she opened them and showed us all the newest colors. The ones most people hadn't even seen yet. 

     Then, she'd hand Mother a mirror, and I'd watch Mom slide the tiny tubes across her lips. She would pout them out a little, blot them with tissue, and then turn her head to the right and left while looking in the mirror.  "What do you think?" she would sometimes ask. 

     Then the Avon lady would give Mom a tissue with some cream on it and Mom would wipe that color off and try another one. Sometimes the Avon lady would make up Mom's whole face as I sat mesmerized. I don't remember her name for the life of me, but I remember the way she'd smile at me and wink as I watched her. 

     Then she would hand Mom the new colors of nail polish. The shiny color would glide across Mothers nails. Sometimes, Mom would put two colors on each hand to compare. I'd watch as she lowered her hand, looking deeply at the pops of color. Sometimes she'd asked me which ones I liked the best. Sometimes she placed an order, sometimes she didn't. But after the visits, the samples she used became mine.

     And so, before she closed her case and put back on her hat and gloves, the Avon lady dropped the samples into my open hands. My treasures. Tiny lipsticks and polishes for a little girls special drawer. And on these special days in the summers of 1964 and 1965, I learned how to look pretty like the ladies in the magazines. Like my Mom.