Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, December 18, 2017

My Shopping Pocket

Not exactly. But close...
‘Twas Christmas. My Mom had us all in the car.
It was time for the shopping. We had to go far,
To Lethbridge ‘most seventy miles away.
We talked and we laughed—just enjoying the day.

My brothers and sister had done this before,
Gone shopping for Christmas with Mom at the stores.
But for four-year-old me, this time was the first,
I was way beyond eager, nigh ready to burst.

But when she had parked and I looked from the car,
From the ranch to the city was more than just far,
I had somehow moved on to a whole other sphere,
And I stared at the thousands of folks that were here.

I was used to my world, I’ll admit it. It’s true.
I was here, I must shop. What else could I do?
All my siblings had spread—in the crowd, disappeared,
I slowly climbed out, tried to swallow my fear.

Mother picked up my brother and gave me a grin,
As I stood there so anxious on trembling limbs.
“Let’s go shop for Christmas, Diane,” to me, said.
And I nodded and shivered and wished I was dead.

But then she said something that filled me with hope,
As she showed me the pocket attached to her coat,
“Now you hold on tight and we’ll wander along,
And no one can hurt you and nothing go wrong.”

So I did and I found that my mother was right,
Holding tight to her pocket, I let go of my fright.
I discovered that shopping for Christmas was fun!
If I held Mother’s pocket till the shopping was done.

Years have passed, I forgot ‘pocket shopping’ with Mom,
Till one day, with my kids, we had errands to run,
And with my arms full with the baby and all,
We started our tour of the stores in the mall.

A tug on my coat and I looked down to see,
A toddler’s hand clutch my pocket. And me.
I knew how she felt—the security. Calm.
I’d felt it myself with a pocket. And Mom. 

Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin,
With gentle thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Now post our poems for you to see.

And when you’ve read what we have brought,
Did we help? Or did we not . . .

And next week, from my friends, and me, 
Our 'Christmas Wish' for all to see!

5 comments:

  1. Beautiful. Security passed down through the generations.

    ReplyDelete
  2. That's lovely Diane. Do your grandies hold your pocket as well?

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is such a sweet story! (and well done on poem-izing it, too :))

    ReplyDelete
  4. I remember being instructed to "hold onto my skirt and don't let go", my sister and I on either side of mum who held my brother. And on those occasions we were all dressed alike, our dresses and brother's shirt all made from the same fabric, so if one of us did 'let go', mum could say "she is dressed exactly like this one still here".

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. How smart of your mother to do that!

      Delete

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