Tag Archives: remembering mother

Mother’s Habit

Mom and Me, 1996ish


When she was thinking, seeking clarity

She softly squinted her brown eyes

like she was far away from the moment

Taking her right hand, lifting it to her nose

placing the top side of her pointy finger

beneath her nose in repose.

With her middle finger in an

exaggerated caress, steadily,

at times vigorously, or very slowly,

she would pet the bridge of her nose

down and past the soft bulb of it

in an easy steady slide, meeting

with a flick of her finger at the end then

tapping the back of her index finger.

Repeating this motion many times

in a variety of rhythmic beats even

when clarity seemed to have found her.


It was a charming and odd way to ponder

to this child’s mind even into adulthood,

seeking the deeper meaning of the ways of life,

if that was indeed what she was doing.

It was necessary to copy it, to see

what it felt like to be like her, to do it.

Was there magic in it, and did clarity

actually knock on her mind and give it?

I found it comforting to do it, relaxing.

Practicing the various ways of the

caress, the pet, the quick and slow

slides down my nose with that

generous flick at the end.


Decades passed and it became an artifact

of my mother that I thought I had forgotten.

Put it away in my heart with her death and

the many other quirks and foible treasures

to be pulled up and out in remembrance.

And this one idiosyncrasy brought to

my attention by a loved one.

“You’re just like you mother.

That nose thing she did.

How she pets it when she was sitting

quietly thinking,  you do that too”.



jeanne adwani@copyright april 2021

1 Comment

Filed under jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, NAPOWRIMO, NaPoWriMo prompt

A MOMMY TALE… Happy Birthday Mom

Happy Birthday Momma.  She would have been 97 today.  wow.  I will always miss my momma.



I was 14, awkward and a floppy teenager.  You know the kind;  sure we’re right, and giddy most of the time, flopping on the couch bemoaning the affairs of school and friends, always saying.  “Oh Mom.” extending the drawn of the ‘o’ in the whine.

My mother was patient.  Doing her best to keep hearth and home stable for my brother and I. She worked as a secretary at the University to keep food on the table.  She was a cute, sassy lady.  She was always a lady cause that’s what her generation of women tended to be that came from educated backgrounds.

It was a Saturday night, I was babysitting for the neighbor boy in the apartment next to ours.  Mom had a date.  She had never had a date that I knew of so this was a big deal to me, and I image in forethought it was for her too.  It was all about me wasn’t it?

He was  a professor at the university and she was quietly excited about it; consulting me on what she’d wear.  I failed to see him come and pick her up because of my babysitting, which cause me all kinds of duress through out the evening.  I wanted to see this old guy that was taking my mother to the movies and dinner.  I wanted to lay my eyes on him and make my own teenage assessment.

My ears were attuned to every little sound emanating from our apartment building; waiting to hear the door downstairs open and my mother would return with some story to tell me.  It was just gone  9pm, when I heard voices and knew she was home.  I cracked the door to hear what was being said only to hear giggles and mumbles which made my heart a little racy.

I did hear his good bye and the door close.  I then stood at the top of the stairs waiting for my mother to come up.  First came her shoe; a little beige pump that landed on the first landing coming up, followed by a giggle.  I felt shocked and said, “MOM!”.  That was when the second shoe came flying up, landing on the top stair in front of my feet.

“Mom!”, I say, “What are You doing?”  She gives no reply.

By this time she’s at the top of the first landing making her slow steps up to me.  Her eyes are all glittery and mischievous.  Her closed mouth looks odd and ready to pop open as she gets to the two steps just below me.  I’m shaking my head and hoping she’ll tell me what in the world is going on, when she gives me this grin that looks like her teeth are bright orange.  And with this exhale of laughter a slice of orange flies out of her mouth and hits me in the chest falling to my feet.

I am stunned.  She is laughing hysterically at me, and I’m standing there mouth open and eyes like saucers wondering what the hell just happened.  Who is this woman in front me?  What happened to my mother?

I think for a moment I was frightened.  As fun and playful as my mother was, she didn’t act like this.  She had left the house kind of nervously excited and seemingly calm and returns insane.  I was speechless momentarily till she gave me a big hug, and I started to breathe again.

Mom had had a really good time.

1 Comment

Filed under Uncategorized

REMEMBERING MOM… 26 March 2005

7 years ago my mother transitioned to the Great Beyond.  I love you mom.  This poem is about the first date I ever remembering her having.  I was in 8th grade.




I hear the door open downstair

A giggle echos up with a thud

I’ve been waiting for her anxious

Waiting and wondering

ear to door, ear to door listening

She doesn’t date and has a date

A date with a father of a girl I know

A girl I know and don’t like so much

Not so much at all.


I throw open the door, I open it wide

Her shoe lays on the top step, 

On the top step all pointy and 

pointing at me standing there

“Mom, mom is that you? Is that you?”

More giggling and her other shoe flies

It flies over the bannister lands at my feet

Of course it is her, I know it is her

There are her shoes. There she stands 

On the landing, standing there looking at me

Eyes all twinkly with laughter flowering out


She stands there staring at me with blooms for eyes

Mouth tightly puckered, zipped tight staring

I was horrified of her shoes laying there

Right there laying at my feet at the top of the stairs

Sue’s daddy took my mommy 

Took my mommy to shoe-flying school

It  put sparks in her eyes and makes her silent

And what was I to do?  “MOm?”

She snorts and unzips her mouth

Her teeth are on fire, a burning Sun

Pouring the heat of her out and all over me

I scream in horror, she gives a muffle of laugher

and spits the Sun out at me, right at me


It hits my leg burning me deep. I am on fire

I stop breathing. She pours her laughter

Up those last few steps on to my burning legs 

Cool laughter that quells the fire in her embrace

She picks up the Orange peel at my feet

Waves it, waves it in my face laughing

We plop on the top step.  On the top step

We laugh, we laugh and laugh at the orange peel

Her pointy shoes still pointing at the two us

Sitting there on the top step, laughing tearful

I am sure I never will like Sue or her father ever

Never ever never. But then my mother 

My mother hadn’t been than funny in years

So many years.








Filed under Uncategorized