An Ordinary Mom's Musings

Last summer, I was watering my neighbor’s plants. I discovered they had planted a bunch of Marigolds. I was thinking, they must really want a Marigold bed because they reseed themselves every year. I know this because of memories from my childhood.
When I was a child my parents ran the family business of small motel in Southern UT.  My Grandfather had built it, and when they retired my parents took over running it. In the front, there was a flower box built into the cement and every year it would be overflowing with Marigolds.

My Grandmother LOVED Marigolds. My mother, however, did not. While Marigolds are bright and cheery, they don’t smell very well. For years my mother put up with them in spite of hating them and their smell until finally she pulled them all up one year and planted other flowers.
While it is a little memory, it’s something that sticks out in my memory bank when I run across Marigolds. And while it’s not a particularly special memory, it made me sad to think my youngest siblings (I’m the oldest of 11) would never know how much Grandma loved Marigolds or what a bane they were to my mother.
Memories, stories, and families are important. They are the touchstones to those who came before us. They provide clues as to who we are and why we are.
Last Christmas my Mother in Law gave me a hummingbird bracelet and necklace. I’m sure she thought they were pretty. When I opened my present and saw them, I thought immediately of this same Grandma. She LOVED her hummingbirds. There were always several feeders with its red nectar hanging in her yard so she could watch them.
These are the stories I will tell my children. They met my Grandma once but they will likely never remember it as they were so young. All my children will have of her is my memories. Memories that I will pass on and hope that they help her come alive for them.
Originally published December 20th on Parent Co.