It’s been raining cats and dogs, accompanied by thunderbolts and lightning. Although it’s just past breakfast-time it’s as dark as night and the volume is MUCH louder in our motorhome than in a traditionally built home.
It’s like living above the Bowling Alley of the Gods. The balls roll on forever and ever, and every toss is a strike. Hallelujah!
My Mom taught all five of us girls to love thunderstorms. It wasn’t until we were grown that she ‘fessed up: she’d always been terrified of them herself and made every effort to be sure we were not. Who knew that all of her snuggling, storytelling, and reassurances were as much for herself as for us?
Mom also taught us to bowl, and that included an important lesson in being true to yourself. My father had been encouraging Mom to develop a hobby like oil painting, take tennis, badminton, or golf lessons… or just go join the women’s club. I can assure you, this was for his ego, not her freedom or personal growth. There would still be housework to do and a whole family to cook for when she got home.
I wish I’d been there to see the look on his face when she told him that she’d joined a bowling league! Much to his chagrin, she turned out to be quite good. She traveled the East coast doing league tournaments and became a great coach for girl’s teams.
Her athleticism wasn’t a surprise to me. Mom was the one who taught me to built a snowman, pack a solid snowball, to throw and catch a baseball, even though I was a lefty and she was not. She also conveyed to us the necessary reverence for a World Series game when her St. Louis Cardinals were playing.
I have no doubt that my mother would have excelled at tennis, golf, or anything else she’d put her mind and strong body to. My Mom had balls!
Miss her every day…