Reflections of the Lady in the Mirror

Cobwebs in the Attic

• Reflections of the Lady in the Mirror

Over the years, I’ve had many opportunities and privileges, not only writing the Cobwebs in the Attic column, but also writing for various publications. It was my mother’s dream for me to be a published author. Sadly, to share, she passed away before that happened.

Mom was my greatest cheerleader, always encouraging me to set aside the time and finally do something with all those thousands of thoughts of mine she had to endure through my childhood. My dad picked up where Mom left off, reading the reams of pages of my scribblings and ramblings, always adding his thoughts here and there.

Mom wasn’t perfect, but then, whose mother is, really? As a child, I managed to push every button she had, especially the one marked “patience.” She found ways to keep me busy, and then when all was done, she would provide me with notebook paper and pencils and encourage me to sit down and be quiet for a while.

Poor Mom … quiet was not, and is still not, a word to describe me.

One of my favorite things I’ve written about over the years was about my mother. With Mother’s Day just ahead, I would like to share a poem written several years ago. I’ve tweaked it a bit, correcting grammar, and punctuation enough to hopefully hold a small amount of respect from all the retired English teachers who have the patience to read my work.

It’s a short tale, telling of the day I woke up to discover that my mother had snuck into my life sometime while I was sleeping, and decided to stay. I’m betting I am not the only woman to wake up to this startling discovery a year or two earlier than they thought it would happen.

Reflections of the Lady in the Mirror I rose in the morning and bounced out of bed, visions of chores and errands rushed through my head.

In jammies and slippers to the kitchen I shuffled, hot coffee poured out, a loud yawn I muffled.

I groped through the dark, to the table I stumbled. A wild sight to see, “much too early,” I mumbled.

I reached for my purse; now where did it go? My cell phone was ringing but I was too slow.

With my next cup of coffee, I was beginning to see… the dust on the table, the bookshelves, the TV.

I pulled up my jeans and turned on the light. My zip- per was stuck again; could they just be too tight?

Brush in one hand, mascara in the other, I looked in the mirror…Oh my gosh it’s my mother!

She crept in while I slept; tippy toed in my room, her hair sprinkled with gray, crow’s feet all a’bloom.

When I smiled, she smiled back; she blinked with me too! She was still there when my hands moved when I played peekaboo.

I wondered what happened as I tried hard to focus. Someone played a trick on me, a little hocus pocus.

No matter which way I tried to get back on track, she was still in the mirror staring right back.

The more I gazed at her I began to stand tall; my mother was really pretty I finally recalled.

Shall I pull my hair up? A decision to make. Mother used to wear it that way, like Veronica Lake.

I swished on some lipstick, some shadow and blush, and just like my mother, I’m off in a rush.

Now, as I get dressed to greet each new day, I say my good mornings and go on my way.

But before I go out, I rush to the mirror to see… my copycat mother staring right back at me!

May your Mother’s Day be filled with good memories, past and present, and ladies, may that day you discovered your mother staring back from the mirror bring a smile to your face, and a moment of love for all the ways she cared for you!

------ You may reach Terri Lacher at P O Box 28, Center, Texas 75935 or at btlacher@sbcglobal.net