My mother is visiting. I love when she comes for a visit! I get so excited that I'm all smiles the days leading up (and in a cleaning frenzy), and, yes, I do jump up and down exclaiming, with bubbling-over joy, "My mom's coming to visit!" It's true. If you don't believe me you can ask my coworkers.
One of the things my mother does when she come is she brings stuff: All kinds of stuff. This round we got some coffee and dark chocolate Dove hearts, some odd jewelry, a letter and a book. I will share with you a snippet from the book, but I want to preface that. The book is a collection of sonnets by my great grandmother, Clara Aiken Speer. She collected some of her poems, written over the course of her life, and made this book happen at the age of 72. She dedicated it to her grandchildren, my mother among them.
These are of that brave breed who ever yearn
To march with dawn; whose morning shadows fall
Beyond them on their course, the while they crawl
Up weary, hostile hills, or tread the stern
And treacherous desert plains; whose eyes discern
Mirages under noonday suns, and call
To heart and soul that these illusions all
Into a fine reality must turn.
Sunrise behind them, it may be, had decked
Their heads with halos: This they could not know;
But when the evening nears they walk erect
With faces shining in the vesper glow.
Restless within their veins the West winds run,
These are the children of the setting sun.
My great grandmother was born in 1880 and past away in 1979. A lovely and complex woman ahead of her time, I think she would be counted as a trail-breaker herself. Her story is something else, but that will have to happen in another blog post.