The cloudy day has not dimmed my spirits as I recall the sunny Saturdays of the 11th and 18t . My mother is beautiful and elegant. At eight- eight, she often succeeds in losing Alzheimer’s, remembers the faces of family, thrives on domestic chatter and in the words of her youngest daughter and carer “can hang with me”. This includes leaving home at 6.30AM and returning at nightfall for extended days out. Hanging out involves having flights delayed, cancelled or re-routed so that her journey time is eight hours longer. She gets to son's house completely orientated in place and names. She eventually makes it to bed past midnight without a single complaint.
I am in awe of this woman.
We shared no common interest during my childhood. Attempts by my mother to get close to her firstborn were thwarted by my disinterest in shopping , cooking or any thing remotely feminine. So most of my life, we loved each other but not our lives. Yet, I always knew that hers is a complex personality. In a crisis, she is a rock, in grief dignified, in tough times, loyal, always generous, a sharer of what she has but a hoarder of her thoughts.
Age and re-location have forced a walk in my mother’s shoes. As I reflect on the journey, my admiration of my mother intensifies. I long for her courage and her strength. Her commitment to do the right thing, her sense of duty and her hospitality are impossible to emulate but still they inspire me to try.
Now, at this time of our lives, our paths intertwine as we draw closer in interests.
On the 11th, I shared with her the joy of my brother’s successful surgery. Then on Sunday, we went to Church together. I am delightfully surprised that these days, a Sunday with mama is the highlight of the week.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Another step
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for the people who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it for more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of its walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened there too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years. Two years ago during a crisis, I realized that this temporary place was home. Now that chapter too seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worshi , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for ithe people Who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it more more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of it s walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened here too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years and two years ago realized that it was home. Now that chapter seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worship , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for the people who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it for more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of its walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened there too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years. Two years ago during a crisis, I realized that this temporary place was home. Now that chapter too seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worshi , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for ithe people Who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it more more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of it s walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened here too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years and two years ago realized that it was home. Now that chapter seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worship , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
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