This is the day...

I was in the shower at 6.50 this morning, and the thought struck me.... At just this time 22 years ago, I became a mother. That's right. My son was born May 20, 1986.

I didn't see him today. He's away celebrating and visiting one of his oldest friends in Edinburgh. Last year, he was in the middle of exams, and wasn't doing any celebrating, but as it was his 21st birthday, I couldn't bear to let the day pass without seeing him, so I drove to Dublin, we had lunch, and I drove back. It was worth it, to be with him on that day.

This boy (man!) is so special. Of course, every son is to their mother. Well, he is! And I'm so glad he's in my life, and so proud of him.

At just this time 22 years ago, I was lying in a state of exhilarated bliss staring at a little blue-wrapped bundle in my arms, singing a nonsense-song to him, with words that ran along the lines of "You're my baby, I'm your Mummy, You're my baby boy, my bonny, bonny baby boy, and I'm your Mummy...." and wondering how the nurses could expect me to ever want to sleep, ever close my eyes and shut off that view of the most perfect being that had ever been seen on planet Earth. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

I still do.

Sunday Scribblings: Telephone

His voice is deep, his tone business-like, almost brusque. If I didn't know him, I'd probably not feel very welcome to leave a message after hearing his "greeting": "Hi. This is G. You've missed me. Leave a message". But I do know him, have known him all his life, so I do leave a message: "Hi. This is your Mum. I've missed you. This is a message." Ho, ho, ho.

He calls later. "What's up?" It's nothing. I just wanted to hear his voice. I just wanted to check in, see how life is, ask how his holiday in Florida was, tell him we're invited to my neice's 30th birthday party, that my week went well, that I'm still enjoying the after-effects of the trip to Paris (and to thank him again for such a wonderful gift), ask is he settling back into normal life, let him know how his grandparents are... just a Saturday evening chat.

It only takes a few minutes. That's us and the phone. That's me and the phone. I'm not known for long, long, chats. There are a few people with whom I can have long conversations - I'm thinking K, I'm thinking M, ... oh... and another K - but the material is usually generated by the other person. I'm along for the ride.

I didn't always have a phone at home. I grew up in a house without a phone (like most of our neighbourhood). Mrs. Hegarty across the road, who ran a little salon where she turned elderly ladies' hair blue or mauve, had a payphone in her front porch, and she was really accommodating to anyone with an emergency, dispatching one of her sons to whichever house to receive a call.

We used phone-boxes to make essential calls - but there weren't really a lot of people to call. If my cousin couldn't make it to work, I might be the one who had to call in for him. (I still don't know why that was. He had brothers. He had a dad who could walk to the phone-box more easily than walk to my house with the message that I had to make the call.... What was that about?)

Phone phobia. That's what it was about. We got a phone for my grandmother. She'd wait until someone came to visit to dial a number for her. She mistrusted anyone who called her. The phone was there for emergencies, but I doubt she'd have used it. In fact, if she did feel at all strange or unwell that March afternoon in 1983,as the stroke that finally killed her was coming on, she didn't pick up that phone to call 999. She sat in her chair and waited.

When I started work, I had to get comfortable with talking to people on the phone. Calling suppliers, customers, the tax office... Learning the etiquette. Realising that tone of voice is crucial. But I've never really gotten to love using the phone. If I've got to make any kind of a call to officialdom, I have to steel myself for it. When I had to spend half-an-hour on hold to my insurance company last Friday (Aaaaagh!), I almost went crazy listening to that really pretty rendition of a really pretty tune over and over, over and over.

I decided I had to have a phone at home on the day I brought my son home from hospital as a newborn. I realised I'm going to be here in the house, alone with this defenceless, vulnerable, tiny little person. Anything could happen! I have to be able to summon help - ambulance, police, fire service, hosts of angels, friends, relations. We had to have a phone installed. And we did. For my son, who has grown up, and who now carries a mobile phone with the greeting:

"This is G. You've missed me. Leave a message."
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Other Sunday Scribblings on the topic of Telephone will be found by Dialling HERE

Mother's Day. Me and my boy

I know it's not Mother's Day yet in the US, but here in Europe, it's today. It's even earlier than usual this year (it's normally mid-March). We're not together today, so I thought I'd put us here. I'm not with my Mum either, but I'm thinking of her and remembering the many gifts she's given me in my life. I'd like to celebrate her by showing you the two SoulCollage cards I've made for her.

This is the first one I made. The photo of Mother on horseback was taken when she and Dad were on their 1953 honeymoon. The preponderance of flowers honours her lifelong love of gardens. Having made this card, though, I felt there was something missing, some parts of the spirit of my mother that it hadn't captured. Some time later, I found the central image for the card that really contains the spirit (or neter) of my mother.

My mother loved the outdoors. My abiding memory of Mondays when I was at school is one of mother being overtaken with an urge to clear and clean, pulling furniture and "stuff" into the hallway, and half-way through the task, realising that the day was sunny. She'd wander into the garden to pull a few weeds, become transfixed with the song of the robin or blackbird, and she'd sit onto the backgarden swing to whistle along with them. That's where we'd find her when we came home! Who got the task of putting our rooms back in order? Us, of course! My mother loved picnics, daisy-chains and being with us.

I feel very blessed in my mother. I feel very blessed in my son. Even if it's not Mothers' Day where you are today, every day is a good day to remember.

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[Later: After a few people left similar comments, I need to point out that image of the woman on the swing is not my mother. It's an image culled from a magazine. It just reminds me so much of the spirit of my mother, I used it to represent her.]

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Create Fake Magazine Covers with your own picture at MagMyPic.com

Bits of Thursday

Today (or yesterday, since midnight has now passed) was a good day: A day when I spend time with my son is a good day. A day where we travel together and eat together is even better. We had lunch, then went to visit his aunt, and then I took him to the train, as he heads back into his life in Dublin. As we drove, we spoke of his memories of childhood Christmasses. I realised that my memories were reinforced throughout my childhood in the conversations my siblings and I would have about Christmas... "Remember the time... What about the gift you got..." Being an only child, my son's memories had already begun to slide away. We hauled some of them back from the brink, dusted them off. Laughed .... Phew!

I caught up with an old friend. We had an impromptu dinner together, and it was good. The timing was right. I got to be there just when she needed a visit. I found her at home just when I wanted to see her. ... And she gave me a late Christmas gift of a voucher for something I'd just put on my mental "Must Have this year" list - a seaweed bath! Hurrah for synchronicity!

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I got to spend a little time in the town I lived in for 16 years, exploring new shopping areas, checking out a snazzy coffee-spot (good hot chocolate too). I had a bit of a book-shopping spree, and was especially glad to find Betty Edwards' Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain workbook. - Might kick-start me to exploring drawing again. I enjoyed following the book for a while a few years ago, but came to a full stop when it came to perspective. Maybe the workbook will help. I'd like to do some drawing this year, and to get over that barrier. While I don't think I'll be up to being Creative every day, I'd like to think I might do something every week this year. I'm excited at what is happening over at Leah's blog, though. Her lovely list of possible creative activities includes such things as colouring in a book, re-ordering a bookshelf, or making hot chocolate. Looking at it that way, I suppose I am creative every day.

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I've been participating in a poetry postcard project since September, sending and receiving poems (Yes, on postcards!) and getting quite a kick from finding these little treasures among my mail. So far, I've received 10 cards and sent out 11. When I made my hot-chocolate-stop today, I had no reading material with me, and no notebook! but I did have a few postcards in my bag, so I wrote 3 poems to send off to the next people on the list. I think people can join in at any time, as it's a Perennial Postcard project. Wanna join in?...

Driving home, I met the first snow of the winter. And some freezing fog. I drove slowly, with Christmas music playing. I loved it. Everywhere looks magical in the snow. I hope it's still around tomorrow when I wake up. I want to take photos. I want to go out wearing my (fake) fur hat. I want to build a snowman.

One Deep Breath - Tanka

This week's suggestion from One Deep Breath is that we try our hand at Tanka - which is like Haiku, but gets an extra two lines, and conveys some emotion. I've been absent from my blog for a few days, away to my neice's wedding, and today, bringing my son to start his third year at college. So here's the immediate response:


We cross the country,
carrying your student gear,
I leave you safely there.
My journey home is quiet,
still feel your kiss on my cheek.

There will be more Tanka to explore HERE