Wind Chimes and Wonder Woman
When I was just a little girl
at the ripe old age of three,
and precocious as can be,
I'd spurned rag dolls and girlie things,
embraced all things curiosity.
I'd sit on the floor
at Mom's feet
while she was so busy working,
talking while typing--
click, click, click!
"Would you like to book
an interview for
So-and-So?
I can mail you a press kit today."
Tap tap tap, ding!
Return.
Return..
Well, I went to work myself,
(both then at her feet and now)
fishing out crumpled carbon paper wads
from her dented little trashcan
from the 1964-65 World's Fair,
smoothing and smearing them
all across the floor,
always looking to decipher
the mysterious type on the page.
Slyly, slowly transfering the
telltale traces off my hands
and onto the walls
while she wasn't looking,
while trying to figure out
with my eager little mind
how to go about
ever so innocently becoming half
as brilliant and amazing as she.
After all,
she'd talk all day long
to all sorts of fascinating folks,
taking furious notes
as she'd snatch up a pen
from the Wonder Woman jar
that was crammed to the brink
with multiple inkiness to prop up
the stacks of steno pads
packed with pure genius of Mom
day in, day out...
Entranced,
I only could sit and stare
watching her work for hours....
Holy COW!
Where did she get that jar?
Can I get one, too?
COOL!
It's not like she knew she's my hero...
Hmmm,
or did she?
That was a brand new show, and
I only told my bestest friend
at school just the other day that
I wanted to be HER when I grew up--
lasso, bullet bracelets, invisible plane....
How she knew,
I'll never quite know,
she always had a knack for
knowing without you ever knowing.
She's like that, you know.
But, then again,
the smart ones always are.
Decades later,
those times,
long gone the way of the
crumpled carbon papers
spilling type-set secrets,
come to a close,
as I sat and stared,
only this morning--
Transfixed once more,
still watching you for hours
this early April 4,
utterly terrified but
unable to steal away
as you drew that last breath
and let all the sick go.
Quiet.
Serene.
Done.
Later tonight,
bone-tired and up all alone,
I stand on my porch,
crying out, pressing my forehead
against the screen,
straining against this veiled physical barrier
almost unseen,
now keeping us apart.
Yet I can still feel the breeze
up here, right now, coolly,
gently lift the tears from me.
Close my eyes,
reaching out with my soul,
I hear your musical voice
tinkling the wind chimes,
calm my heart,
bringing peace.
You're fine now,
all better, no more pain.
And I feel it.
Oh, wow, sure, I get it now!
You're off on your invisible plane....
In loving memory of my most phenomenal mother--
mentor, hero, and dearest friend,
Edna Carol Pauline Rosky Farley
Born December 6, 1936, Died April 4, 2011.
Forever loved, cherished, remembered, and embraced.
I love you, Mom, and God be with you 'til we meet again!
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, April 4, 2011
at the ripe old age of three,
and precocious as can be,
I'd spurned rag dolls and girlie things,
embraced all things curiosity.
I'd sit on the floor
at Mom's feet
while she was so busy working,
talking while typing--
click, click, click!
"Would you like to book
an interview for
So-and-So?
I can mail you a press kit today."
Tap tap tap, ding!
Return.
Return..
Well, I went to work myself,
(both then at her feet and now)
fishing out crumpled carbon paper wads
from her dented little trashcan
from the 1964-65 World's Fair,
smoothing and smearing them
all across the floor,
always looking to decipher
the mysterious type on the page.
Slyly, slowly transfering the
telltale traces off my hands
and onto the walls
while she wasn't looking,
while trying to figure out
with my eager little mind
how to go about
ever so innocently becoming half
as brilliant and amazing as she.
After all,
she'd talk all day long
to all sorts of fascinating folks,
taking furious notes
as she'd snatch up a pen
from the Wonder Woman jar
that was crammed to the brink
with multiple inkiness to prop up
the stacks of steno pads
packed with pure genius of Mom
day in, day out...
Entranced,
I only could sit and stare
watching her work for hours....
Holy COW!
Where did she get that jar?
Can I get one, too?
COOL!
It's not like she knew she's my hero...
Hmmm,
or did she?
That was a brand new show, and
I only told my bestest friend
at school just the other day that
I wanted to be HER when I grew up--
lasso, bullet bracelets, invisible plane....
How she knew,
I'll never quite know,
she always had a knack for
knowing without you ever knowing.
She's like that, you know.
But, then again,
the smart ones always are.
Decades later,
those times,
long gone the way of the
crumpled carbon papers
spilling type-set secrets,
come to a close,
as I sat and stared,
only this morning--
Transfixed once more,
still watching you for hours
this early April 4,
utterly terrified but
unable to steal away
as you drew that last breath
and let all the sick go.
Quiet.
Serene.
Done.
Later tonight,
bone-tired and up all alone,
I stand on my porch,
crying out, pressing my forehead
against the screen,
straining against this veiled physical barrier
almost unseen,
now keeping us apart.
Yet I can still feel the breeze
up here, right now, coolly,
gently lift the tears from me.
Close my eyes,
reaching out with my soul,
I hear your musical voice
tinkling the wind chimes,
calm my heart,
bringing peace.
You're fine now,
all better, no more pain.
And I feel it.
Oh, wow, sure, I get it now!
You're off on your invisible plane....
In loving memory of my most phenomenal mother--
mentor, hero, and dearest friend,
Edna Carol Pauline Rosky Farley
Born December 6, 1936, Died April 4, 2011.
Forever loved, cherished, remembered, and embraced.
I love you, Mom, and God be with you 'til we meet again!
Written by Eliza Jane Farley Gomez
Monday, April 4, 2011
what an amazing gift you have! God bless you dear friend.
ReplyDeletehugs...
Allison