So Many Berthas…

BerthaOver the years… I’ve had people tell me that they wished… Bertha… would come and stay with them for a while… I’ve also had people tell me that they missed… Bertha’s… wisdom when I didn’t write for a while…

So… today… Bertha… said that I should remind everyone… that… everyone has their very own… Bertha… with them… every moment of every day…

That’s right… you may call her Maude or Millie… or call him Fred or Frank… but regardless of the name… each of us has a voice of inner wisdom… even if you don’t listen… it’s always there… and it’s always guiding you…

Bertha… says the funny part is… the less you listen… the quieter the voice… and the more you listen… the more clearly you can hear it… she says it’s kind of like developing a muscle… the more you use it… the stronger it gets… or in her case… the louder

Of course… even after all these years… and as loud as she talks… I don’t always hear her… especially when I’m determined to do things… my way… and I ignore those gut feelings… that sense of heaviness and that something just isn’t right… but I stomp my foot and do it anyway… even though by that time… Bertha… is doing her best rendition of the robot on Lost in Space… you remember… danger Will Robinson… danger Will Robinson… while I get captured by the Martians…

Thankfully… there are more times now that I do listen… I visit a friend on a hunch… just to find that they needed to talk… or that I did… I pass on an opportunity… then find out that it wasn’t as great as it was presented…

But… I have to say… I most enjoy… Bertha… when she is relating common, everyday things to my life in general… like when she showed me that a flower growing in the middle of my dry creek had to do with resilience after being tossed around by the winds of life…

Yes… those are the messages that I love… and she assures me… that Millie and Frank… have wonderful lessons for you… all you have to do… is get quiet enough to hear them whisper… and soon… they’ll they will be talking nonstop…

Jane…

Under the Mulberry Tree…

I looked down this morning…to see…my Granny’s hands…coming from my sleeves…it’s not the first time I’ve seen them…in fact…the older I get…the more they’re there…

But…for some reason…this morning…the site of them…got me to really thinking about…Granny’s hands…and…what they meant to me over the years…

Interestingly…many of my memories…involve her holding a knife…I suppose that is because…preparing food…was such an important part of her life…

I remember…corn day…when the roasting ears were ready…and we would make a day of it…Mama…pulled the corn…while the rest of us sat under the mulberry tree…I whacked off the ends with a butcher knife…which I pretended was a machete…one sister shucked…one sister silked…and…Granny and Mrs. Posey…cut off…

They used the thinnest of pairing knives…freshly sharpened for the day…and they would make…at least three cuts down the cob…no whole kernel corn for us…before scraping it with the knife…to get the last little bit…it was an art form…in and of itself…Mama…has it…I never mastered it…I’m not sure about my sisters…

Those days…sitting outside…in the heat of summer…fighting off flies…and squealing over corn worms…are some of my happiest memories…not just from childhood…but…from life…they were the days…that my sisters and I were…included with…the…womenfolk…and were privy…to whatever gossip might be shared…

But…I realize now…because…Bertha…is telling me…it wasn’t the gossip…that was important…it was just what made me interested…it was the wisdom…that was passed along with the ears of corn…from one hand to another…that was of real value…

Jane