Like many elderly people, my mother has a daily routine. She likes to spend her afternoons in her art studio. I call it her cave. One afternoon several months ago upon returning from her cave she placed this piece of paper in my hand:
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
My Surprise
Several years ago my daughter assembled a book of poetry from various poems my mother had written. Just about every subject was covered except one. She had never written a poem about me, her one and only daughter! When I brought this to her attention, she did what she always does. She started to argue with me about it, but I proved her wrong. The fact of the matter was that she had never written a poem about me. I have to admit it hurt my feelings that my existence didn't inspire her to write something...anything about her ugly duckling daughter. I didn't expect something to rival William Shakespeare. A little Mother Goose would be nice!
Like many elderly people, my mother has a daily routine. She likes to spend her afternoons in her art studio. I call it her cave. One afternoon several months ago upon returning from her cave she placed this piece of paper in my hand:
At 91, I have to admit that she's going strong! Yes, she went through that period I called her "empty pod" or "alien abduction" period and I really doubted she was going to come out of it, but she did. It took a lot of work on my part and it almost put me in a rubber room in the process, but she's back and doing better than ever. Her health is great and her mind is sharp (sharper than mine I have to admit). Maybe what we both need is some medical marijuana and a smile! Now, that's a strange trip I don't know if I'm ready for...smoking dope with my mother just seems a little too weird even for Mildred.
Like many elderly people, my mother has a daily routine. She likes to spend her afternoons in her art studio. I call it her cave. One afternoon several months ago upon returning from her cave she placed this piece of paper in my hand:
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Now that is a poem worth waiting for.
ReplyDeletelol I only had to wait 64 years. Geez! I might get a whole sonnet in 64 more years! hahahahah
DeleteA lovely poem! Better late than never!
ReplyDeleteYes indeed. And I have a whole studio full of her art plus all the paintings she's done just for me. I guess I shouldn't have gotten my feelings hurt because she didn't write a poem specifically about me BUT I'm glad she corrected her error! lol
DeleteI delight in the poem your mother wrote about you. I was not so specifically addressed, but there wasn't time --or so I thought:
ReplyDeleteIn her journal/budget notebook, my mother wrote one sentence early in 1949 that caught my attention: "No M; must be P!" Not a poem (but quite arguably a 1st Haiku line). It suffices. The fact that I found it while clearing out her house for sale, made me sit down and smile. The poem that began there goes on.
Isn't funny how the smallest things end up meaning the most to us?
DeleteIt doesn't matter how old we get, we all need some kind of affirmation that we were loved (and wanted) as children.
ReplyDeleteI agree
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