My Mother …

Mother – The matriarch, a woman, a parent, a friend…. A person like no other….

mother, child, matriarch, friend….

It has been a year since my mother died

And when I think of her, which is every day, several times

As much as I mourn her passing, it brings to mind, her living

Her living past

Entwined with mine

Memories from childhood

A time, for example, when she lay out a new dress upon my bed, as a surprise for me

because that morning, I cried when she put my hair in a ponytail, and I didn’t like it in a ponytail,

 ‘I look like a boy’ I cried, I was 7 years old

I think of the time I tried to cycle my brothers bike out the gate and it was a bit too big for me

I wobbled on its frame and my little hands on the handlebars wobbled it this way and that

Until I fell off and she came running to help me up

I cried, first with the pain, then with laughter, and she cried with me and we were both in hysterics, laughing.   I was 8 years old.

I think of the time when I was 9 years old and I fell in the canal.  I could not swim.   I was terrified she would find out

She did, of course, mothers always find out!

She hugged me tight because she knew I was alright, unlike her brother who had drowned when he was only 14 years old

I saw the pain and relief in her face and I knew then, I would learn to swim and not mess about  the next time I had a swimming lesson at school.

I think of her laughter, her smiling eyes and the way they would light up

Her joy and excitement as I brought my own children into the world

Her love, her kindness and her generosity

I think too, of times when we would disagree and fight

Of how we would overcome the obstacles and begin again

I think of her courage at learning to drive in her late 50s and passing her test first time

I think of her learning to paint when she couldn’t even draw, and produce wonderful pieces of art, which hang on my walls

I think of her sacrifices to keep house and home together, when she could have been free

I think of her garden and how she nurtured it and brought it to life

When I think of my mother, I think of her beside me and I see her face, and that makes me happy

I think that even though I know  she has gone, I know too, that she is still here

my mother…. A woman of substance….

Before….

Living with grief is a way of life one has to adjust to…..but its just not easy

I think of everything in terms of ‘before’

especially when I look at photos,

or where I was on a certain day, occasion, that sort of thing.

For instance, a week before I knew, I brought the girls to see the new house.

A day before, I knew, I drove up to Sligo for a week-end of pampering

and relaxation, because he was due to have major surgery the following week.

The next day would become the ‘day I knew’.

It was the day before I collected the keys to the new house and you were to soon come to visit.

That day, was the day that the world changed.

That was the day that became ‘before’.

Everything after this day, became dark and grew darker with each passing day.

Until 9 days later it grew so dark it was black, because now you were gone.

You were gone and we were all still here, bereft, bewildered, lost

in shock, despairing and gasping for air.

Nine days of clinging on to hope, searching and praying for a miracle,

but it wasn’t to be.

It’s almost three years now, yet everything since then, after then,

has been foggy, unstable.

The shift is like an un-anchoring of a ship, and the ship

is adrift, wading through unknown waters and somehow stays afloat,

but it’s rocky out there a lot of the time.

And when calm waters come , it give a sense of solace, for a short time.

Until the remembering slaps so sharply and slams the reality of it all

so intensely that the ship almost tips over and sinks.

Before you left, the world was so much brighter and lighter

and after? Well, I carry you in my heart, every minute of every day

The day ‘I Knew’ photo authors own – ‘waiting on the shore’ Rosses Point, Sligo

Greet…

Even when its not good, or happy, necessarily, we still smile and greet eachother this way……

Authors own..lough Rynn

Good morning

Good night

Good day

Goodbye

Happy go lucky

Happy ever after…….

What a disaster we think we can master

Affairs of the heart

Before the day starts

With a sentence beginning with ‘good’

When such an expression can leave an impression, misguided or misunderstood

No matter the greetings

They merely are fleeting

Neither happy nor good nor true

But still we insist that to greet one like this

Is the right and polite thing to do

When morning has broken

And sadness has spoken 

At leaving the night  all alone

It can feel quite lonely

Cos the night could be the only true comfort the morning had known

Goodbye’s can be painful 

And even disdainful 

The parting can be such a wrench

So the ‘good’ needs some context 

Cos it can be quite complex 

Thus,  maybe it’s time to reflect…..

Who are you?

Who are you, do you know. How many versions of you are there?

Photo by Ben Mack on Pexels.com

‘Born free, as free as the wind blows, as free as the grass grows, born free to follow your heart…...’ (song by Matt Monro)

I heard this song today for the first time in years. I used to watch the series, when I was a little girl. It was about an American couple living in Kenya who adopted a lioness called Elsa, and they basically protect her and other animals.

What occurred to me today was that, we are not really ‘born free’. Born innocent, yes, born pure yes, born without any pre-conceived ideas – tabula rasa, perhaps.

Unlike animals, who from birth, can basically stand on their own two feet and only seek their mothers aid for nourishment and sustenance, us humans depend on our mothers/caregivers for much more, in order to survive.

Over the weeks, months and years we are steered, guided, nurtured. We are told what to do, how to do it, when to do it. We are socialized. Taught how to conform, to abide by rules and regulations. We are born into a culture that will dictate our beliefs from early on. Born into a country that will dictate our language. Born into a family that will dictate our social status, initially. We can of course veer off that path and either rise above, spiral down or remain the same.

We become what we have assimilated over the years from all of our interactions, with all of our relationships, all of our roles, role models, and all of our experiences. Mix that with our own unique personality, our strengths, our weaknesses, our beliefs, our idiosyncratic ways and we become ‘someone’.

However, do we remain that someone? or can we morph into ‘one’ ‘me-one’. Do we, as we get older change our ways, change our beliefs, do our strengths ever become our weakness and our weakness become our strength? Do our roles define us. We all have more than one role. We do not merely exist in isolation.

Are we free to change? To shake off all that we believed to be true and real. Is it OK to challenge ourselves and evolve into someone else. Same face, same body, but different mindset.

Do we owe it to ourselves to shed one skin and welcome another? Should we feel bad if we choose ‘me’ exclusively, regardless of our threads and ties to anyone else and their expectation of us? Their view of us? Their idea of who we should be?

Is there a certain time in life when we can do this, or do we just dream of doing this? Should we encourage this and bid ‘adieu’ to our old self and our old set of hand me down beliefs, morals and expectations and welcome in who we are about to become.

Many times over our lifetime, I believe, we re-invent ourselves, one way or another, question ourselves, change our minds, our opinions, our expectations and standards. What seemed important once, becomes insignificant at another time. Dancing to someone else’s tune can become laborious, wearing, and grind us down.

How many of us wish to metamorphose, like the caterpillar and fly like the butterfly and be free? Live in the moment, no demands, no expectations, wipe the slate clean and start again, with fresh eyes. Unlearn everything and relearn at our own pace, dance to our own tune, assimilate our own beliefs and step into the world a new version, whether upgraded or downgraded. Above all, true to you.

Of course, this usually comes with age. Usually when we have less time in front of us than behind us. In our quest of searching for meaning, and seeking approval, we often lose ourselves, in the everyday mundane conformity of what is expected, and we deliver.

Sometimes, though, the delivery guy, not only needs a break, but needs to change course and break free…….

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk on Pexels.com

International Women’s Day

Are we Idealists or realists? We are women, we are fighters and survivors. If we have support each other and stand together, we can achieve anything!

Photo – authors own – A house of women…. Supporting & advocating for one another……

How do we empower. How do we motivate. How do we succeed in being equal?

We first of all must observe. Then we must teach, then we must learn. Women can learn from other women not just from the inequality from men.

The teaching, observing and learning must start in the home. If we have great mentors, advocates, ambassadors within the home, to build us up, make us strong, motivate us, be a role model for us, then we are off to a good start.

Even if, in the home, we see something we do not like, do not agree with, think is not right, we must learn from it,challenge it and take that ‘education’ of it outside of the home.

Take our knowledge, our beliefs our motivations, our voice and strength with us, into the world, and use it as our toolkit. We can keep adding to the toolkit, each time we feel inequality and injustice, is staring us in the face. We must reach into our bag of tools, stare right back at inequality and challenge it.

Seek out like minded people. Seek out your tribe. Help each other out. Build each other up and most of all, be there in the wings, having each others back whenever we get knocked down. Then get up again, build again, stand firm again.

The only way to succeed at anything, is to keep on trying.

From the oldest to the youngest and the youngest to the oldest a flow of ideas, ideals, experiences  and perspectives will surface. From female to female, female to male and male to female, there will of course be differences of opinion, power struggles, ideas and idealism. However, the key to be heard, is not power, but persuasion, respect, open mindedness and fairness. It is only then, that we strive for parity.

Happy International women’s day…keep on going… 

Cobblestone streets

There is always someone, or somewhere, that can take us from the darkest of places and bring us sunshine…

Photo authors own

I am just back from a 4 day trip to Bruges. I wanted to be anywhwere, but here, for Christmas.

Christmas is a time for family. Since I was 19 years old I have always entertained/hosted people on Christmas day, save for a handful of times, where people have hosted me or I have gone away, with my family.

This year I didn’t want to be with any family at all. Not because I don’t like or love them, but because I just couldn’t face it and the constant reminder of what I had lost this year, and the previous two years.

1st my best friend, next my dad and this year my mum…. All gone. My parents were old, made it to 80, my friend only 56. It does something to you, death and loss. Something that is hard to explain and  hard to navigate on any ordinary day, let alone Christmas day.

So, in order to rescue myself and my family from whatever Christmas day might do to me, emotionally, I decided being somewhere else would be better for all of us. 

So Bruges it was. I had never been, but heard a bit about it and of course, I had seen the film, ‘In Bruges’ with Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson – great movie, by the way.

Off we went on the 23rd December, my husband and I. As soon as I walked outside of our hotel, alongside the canal, paths of cobbled stones underfoot, and buildings so ornate, that I would stop in wonder and marvel at the workmanship of the intricate details which they bore.

Christmas twinkling lights adorned this city, high and low and showcased its magnificence. Everywhere you looked, it was picture postcard pretty.

The ‘blue light’ street lights were a beacon for light installations around the city, such as the story of the swan. Legend has it that a young woman had been imprisoned by her father for refusing to marry a man, he wished her to marry. Locked up in the basement, her only comfort was two swans that would visit every day. After she was released, she had been left a fortune which she donated to the city to continue to take care of the swans.

Another story is, a curse put on the city by Emperor Maximilian (austrian), for the torture and beheading of his friend and trusted adviser, known as ‘long neck’. As a tribute to his friend, he forced the people of Bruges to keep long neck swans on the water for all eternity, and failure to do so, would be utter ruin for Bruges.

Whichever, if true or not, the swans on the water, in the light installation, was truly a beautiful wonder to watch.

The swan story…

Over our four days, we crammed as much in as possible. We did the boat tour around the canals, we went up the Belfry, 366 steps, not for the faint hearted, but reminded me of climbing the steps of Coventry Cathedral, my original home town, many times when I was a girl.

We went into Stadhuis (City Hall)….. Amazing, beautiful elegant building, still used for council meetings and even weddings and other official receptions.

City Hall…

On Christmas day we went to mass in the Church of the Holy Blood. This is in the corner of the same square as City Hall. The mass was beautiful. Even though it was said in Flemish, it was a beautiful experience and I could follow, for the most part, where we were in the mass.

I offered up my thoughts and prayers to my loved ones and of course, asked that God keep them safe in his care. It was a a truly special mass, in a very special church, and I felt a calm and comfort there. I was glad to take them, my loved ones, on my journey there. 

I thought and pondered quite a while about, how my dad especially, had never visited such a beautiful place. He was never one to travel or go anywhere and there is so much in our own countries, towns and villages, let alone, the bigger world, that we often do not see. My dad hadn’t been much further than his own back yard.

Basicilica of the Holy Blood – Christmas day 2023

We visited several museums, including the salvador Dali exhibition, the Groeningemuseum and of course one or two biermuseums!

We ate waffles, belgian chocolate, like liquid gold melting on the tongue with its smooth creamy texture. Ribs, steaks, scallops, salads…you name it, we ate it. We drank their local beers and sampled their many beautiful restaurants.

On Christmas day, I wanted a nice restaurant and we were not disappointed. The Duc de Bourgogne, said to be one the most romantic restaurants in the Country, was simply stunning. The decor, the oppulance,  their Christmas decorations and its location, overlooking the canal, was really lovely. The staff very friendly and funny. Not too ‘stuck up’ in that you could dress smart casual, but with an air of grandness about the place. The food and wine were delicious and I would definitely recommend.

Duc de Bourgogne

Apart from the buildings, the museums, the bars, restaurants and general beauty of this city, we also met some interesting people. A couple, one from Scotland the other from England, there to celebrate her 30th birthday. 

Another couple from Oregon, they had arrived, but their luggage hadn’t. One of the guys has Belgian origin and citizenship but his partner, a true Oregon man, lived on a beautiful house boat there and was looking to sell, ohhhh if only!  Drinking the ‘fleet’ of beer in the beer museum, enjoying our cheese plate, we passed a fun couple of hours chatting and exchanging stories with them.

We met a couple, who had just got engaged, they too were from the USA. Overlooking the market, from this balcony, we chatted to them and took pictures for them on their phones. Young and in love in a beautiful city for Christmas with an unexpected proposal to boot. She was a very happy girl and he was a very happy boy – she said YES.

We chatted with a man from Turkey, a teacher, on his travels and some Mexicans, enjoying their first trip to Europe.

On our last night a couple sat by our table. He was Australian she was Russian. He was an officer on a yacht and she dealt with chartering yachts but they lived in the South of France, Antibes. Lovely place of the world to live. We visited near there once, staying in Frejus, and driving around St. Raphael (where the Auzzie had once lived), St. Tropez, Cannes and Monaco. Like I said, beautiful.

They were interesting people and we laughed alot. As interesting as their jobs seemed, they had the same ups and downs as the people serving us in the restaurant…Life is like that, the job may give a status, a lifestyle of sorts, but take the job away and we are all left in the same boat, pardon the pun. Sailing, searching for love, happiness, companionship, friendship, peace.

No matter what bumps in the road, or little stumbles (in heels) on cobbled stoned roads, there is so much out there, in the world, outside of our own little bubbles, to be explored, enjoyed, welcomed and to escape for a few days, from the normality of our lives, the sadness, the mundane, the ordinary. 

I didn’t miss not having a ‘usual Christmas’. My sadness and grief were well cloaked and diverted elsewhere, notwithstanding the fact that I had my loved ones there with me, tucked neatly away in my heart. My little escape, was just what the doctor ordered.

Our favourite little bar….

The margarita was delicious….. cheers!

Do yourself a favour, if you have never been, go to Bruges and fall in love.

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls

Anais Nin, the Diary of Anais Nin, Vol 7:1966-1974
Couple of Coventry kids…. Lady Godiva sculpture and me
Alice..in wonderland…salvador Dali style

FATHER CHRISTMAS

No, not ready,  not this Christmas  day, give me a place to hide away.  Christmas,  its roots carved out of religion, with family at the heart  and etched in tradition

From childhood memories of excitement and wonder, tipping downstairs, skipping steps with my brothers..

‘He’s been, he’s been’, we’d exclaim with such joy, unwrapping and passing the games and new toys.

And mum would be there, a smile on her face, excited for us as we danced and embraced, eachother, our gifts,  scalextrix and dolls and dad would come in and join in the fun 

The house, it was happy on each Christmas  morn,  and father Christmas so brilliant for bringing such fun.

And mum would be busy preparing our feast, the kitchen awash with all sorts of treats…. the turkey the stuffing, she’d make it from scratch, the tastes and the flavours could never be matched.

We’d sit round the table, a family of 5…grateful and thankful what the lord had provided.  

The choir hymns  still ringing from the midnight  mass, and i’d sit in pure wonder at all that we had

For santa, he was, the father of christmas for sure, bringing peace and good will to our family’s door.

Back then we were ignorant to the true full facts, that Christmas wouldnt happen without mum and dad.

What happiness they brought with sacrifices made and now how I’ll miss  them on this Christmas day

So no, not now, not ready just yet, I’ll leave santa to the chrildren, so they wont forget, the joy and the treasure and the gift of it all the christmas, the magic, so they can recall

How special and awesome their own mothers are, allowing father christmas to capture their their sweet precious hearts.

For the mothers and fathers gone home to the lord, we’ll love you and miss you on this christmas morn…..