Mother's Lilacs

Mom loved her lilacs and made sure dad brought cuttings off the lilacs from our old house to the new one when we moved. I was ten years old and very sad to leave our grand old house with the big front porch and swing where I spent many days swinging with my big sisters. It was our favorite place to go when we heard a thunderstorm coming in off the lake, which was only about five minutes from our house.

Now, we were moving to a city just seven minutes away into a brand new house that mom and dad just loved the thought of after fixing so many things at our old one. But, sentiment ran high and the lilacs were going with us, which made me glad to have the familiar, fragrant flowering bushes come with us to our new home.

Dad planted then in the corner of the backyard so they would provide somewhat of a hedge and look pretty all bunched together. Through the years they grew big and beautiful and spring always seemed like a familiar homecoming when our lilacs would bloom and spread their sweet aroma throughout the yard and into the house.

Mom always had a bouquet of them sitting on the dining room table and that is one of my fondest memories of her and the lovely lilacs. She would whistle all the time while she worked and the lilacs just seemed to perk up more when she did. They were one of her passions and were with her until she took her last breath as the family picked some off her own bushes at her request, so she could view the bouquet from her hospital bed in the living room.

 They are now my favorite flower and a most sentimental fragrance for me. I even wrote a whole article dedicated to the beautiful and fragrant flowers in memory of mom and know that she is beholding the most magnificent lilacs in heaven at this very moment! You can read the article here and learn about the divine flowers and see some awesome pics of them as well.  I love you lilacs and thanks for the memories of  mom!







Flowering Lilac Tree

All to Myself Poem

All to myself I find the way, back to each golden yesterday,
Faring in fancy until I stand, clasping your ready, friendly hand,
The picture seems half true, half dream, and I keep its color and its gleam,
all to myself.
All to myself I hum again, fragments of some old time refrain,
something that comes at fancy's choice, and I hear the cadence of your voice,
sometimes tis dim, sometimes tis clear, but I keep the music that I hear,
all to myself.
All to myself I hold and know, all of the days of long ago,
wonderful days when you and I, owned all the sunshine in the sky,
the days come back as the old days will, and I keep their tingle and their thrill,
all to myself.
all to myself, my friend, do you count all the memories softly too?
summer and autumn, winter, spring, the hopes we cherish and everything?
They course my veins as a draft divine, and I keep them wholly, soley mine,
all to myself.
All to myself I think of you, think of things we used to do,
think of the things we used to say, think of each happy, bygone day,
sometimes I sigh, and sometimes I smile, but I keep each olden, golden while,
all to myself.
Wilber Dick Nesbit