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Pansies, snapdragons, and daisies line the garden path. Near the posts grows a hot pink bougainvillea. My father clips it to keep it under control. This year it has spread, encroaching onto the other plants. I learned early not to play near it and ended up in tears once after tripping on the porch steps and falling victim to its spikes. I take the first step and expect the screen door to fling open. The creaky sound is etched in my mind, along with the bang, when it slams since Dad has never replaced the old hinges.
I hold the screen door open and, no surprise, the front door opens. When are they going to lock their doors during the day?
“Here’s our Poppy.” Dad appears and hugs me. “Why, look at you dressed all fancy in those boots and that smart coat.” He takes my coat and hangs it on the hook on the wall. He leads me along the small hallway. “We just got back from church… it’s why the front door is open.” He winks at me.
“I’m glad you listen to me.” I stop in the sitting room, and Mom waddles over to me. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”
Holding out her arms, she comes to me with the biggest smile. “Thank you, honey.”
“You’re limping worse than last time,” I say as I hug her.
“Don’t you worry about me… it’s just my silly hip. Let me see you.” Mom stands back and assesses me. “My, you look well.” She hugs me again.
“I am well, but I hate the thought of you in pain.” I pull out the gift from my handbag. “I have something for you.”
Mom unwraps the pink bow on the box and lifts a gold necklace with three entwined hearts dangling from it. “Penelope, it’s beautiful.” Mom smiles, and it reaches her green eyes. The same eyes I inherited. “Look, Ray.”
Mom holds it up, and I clip it around her neck. “It’s the three of us.”
Her eyes water. “It’s all I ever wanted.” She hugs me, and Dad comes and joins in the group hug.
“Tears already?” Dad lovingly pats both our backs. “We’ll have to change that. You two go and sit, and I’ll get us some coffee to go with the pancakes your mom cooked.”
The table has a cloth over one end where they eat, and the other end has the contents of Mom’s craft box scattered across it. After years of being an interior decorator and designer, it’s hard not to notice the mess, but this is how my parents have lived all their lives and rarely get visitors.
“What’s this?” I hold up an old wire candle jar with fishing line attached.
Mom smiles proudly. “I’m making a wind chime out of your grandmother’s old spoons.” She takes it from me, the candle holder upside down, the wires dangling, then holds a spoon to it. “Like this.”
“I see.”
“I’ve gone through some things, decided I don’t use half of it, and want to do something useful.”
“What else do you have here?” I move scissors and ribbons away from me. “Why are all my old T-shirts here? I thought I threw them away?”
“You put them in a sack, and I kept it. We now have a use for them.”
I hold one up. It’s a pink tie-dyed top I had when I was fifteen. “What use?”
She shuffles through until she finds something. “Tote bags.” She holds it up, and I can see it’s a tote, but why? “Like this.” She cuts out the neck and both sleeves. Then she cuts a fringe about an inch apart along the T-shirt’s hem. She ties the end of each fringe piece of each side together in a knot. “See? A perfectly good tote bag for shopping and no sewing required.” She passes three to me. “Take these, love, for when you go to the markets to buy your fruit and vegetables.”
“Mom, it’s fine. You keep them.”
“Honey, I have plenty.”
“Are you ladies ready?” Dad carries over a plate of pancakes. He places the maple syrup and whipped cream on the table.
“Always for the best pancakes in all of California.”
“Stop it.” Mom grins. “I’ll just get some berries.” She makes a noise as she stands and grabs her hip.
“Mom. Let me.”
“I’m okay. It’s just this silly hip. The pain will go away.”
“You’re sixty-five, Mom. The pain might not go away. You may need a hip replacement.”
“Now, we won’t get all gloomy. I’ll be fine.”
