It’s different today at Five Minute Friday.
Lisa Jo doesn’t give the usual one-word prompt. This week she asks a question instead:
“Where is your memory buried?
In just five minutes. Tell what your mama did that made her yours.”
She told me her heart. Between the soapsuds and the soppy towel strokes and the songs we harmonized by the kitchen sink. Dad would look around the kitchen door and say he could have had those dishes done in half the time we’d already taken, and that showed he plain didn’t understand. To us this wasn’t washing dishes time, it was sharing life and love and heartache and laughter and secrets and fears and trials.
She told me more, I think, than anybody else. When we reminisce, my brothers and I, they listen rapt when I tell what she told and they never knew. I’m not revealing things she would not have wanted known, only acquainting them with the heart that beat beneath the flour-dusted apron.
That’s what made me know she was mine. She shared her secrets with me. The hidden hurts that sometimes I didn’t even want to know, the tales of long before.
We did crazy things, singing those songs, dancing Russian Cossack kick-in-a squat dances, laughing silly.
Those things made her mine and only mine, because they were things neither of us did with anybody else. Mine then, and still mine now, while I mine the memories…
How about you? How would you answer that question?
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