My Mom’s birthday was last week. I have some good memories.
During the depression, my Mother and her Dad lived on a farm near Kingston, that the 401 highway now ungraciously divides in half.
Fortunately, my Mother had interesting stories to tell of such a miserable time. She managed to make the humourless a bit entertaining.
Like when she told me they ate turnips for an entire year. I couldn’t eat turnips until I was a junior senior.
Perhaps the story I like best is Psalm 121.
Many hobos would come to their farm and my Mother and Grandfather would feed them and help them out for a short spell. She never thought much of it. One of them gifted her a metal tin with roses on it, which I still have.
When the person was about to leave, my Mom would recite Psalm 121 to them.
I just think that is so neat.