"What cha' doing?" I looked up, contemplating the silver strips mama held in her hand. Her head was arched upward, and with one hand she held tightly to her face, and with the other, she placed the two long silver metal things against her chin and tugged. She grunted and jerked.

"Plucking my face," she uttered.

'What in the world is that,' I thought. My mouth twitched to the side as I stretched higher on my tippy toes to see if I could see plucking. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but assuredly once I heard a grunt, I knew I was close.

She did it over and over again until finally, she placed the silver things down on the bathroom counter, grabbed a washcloth that had been soaking in the sink and touched it to her face.

"What cha' doing now," I questioned again.

"Making it feel better," she responded.

I wasn't exactly sure what she was making feel better, but I watched her repeat this worrisome process every day from the momentI was ten until, well, forever.

This morning, I looked into the mirror, arched my head upward, and with one hand held my face and with the other, placed what I now know to be tweezers against my chin and tugged. I grunted.  And knowing what came next, Ii ran the hottest water possible into the sink and watched a cloth float until it filled with the weight of the water and sank. I gathered the cloth, twisted it tightly until all the water escaped, and placed it against my chin. It felt better.

I'm not sure when I looked into the mirror and saw mama staring back at me, but I'm glad I have those stalwart eyes showing me the way. Even though they have been closed for nearly six years, not a day goes by without my remembering. and as sure as hogs love slop (a favorite saying of hers), she's peeping down from heaven and watching my morning ritual and declaring, "Don't forget the cloth. It makes it feel better." Mama always knew what made the grunt feel better.

I will never pluck without thinking of you.

Original Post | April 21, 2014