The Jeweled Stairs' Grievance
The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,
It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,
And I let down the crystal curtain
And watch the moon through the clear autumn.
~Ezra Pound~
Sheila at age 16; with her beloved dog Jason
My mother. Sheila Ann, with whom my youngest daughter shares a middle name, is celebrating today. We celebrate with her. It is her birthday today. Born the year Ezra Pound was awarded the first Bollingen prize for poetry, world heavyweight boxer Joe Louis retires, and Eire leaves the British Commonwealth to become the Republic of Ireland. The de Havilland Comet, the first jet airliner makes its inaugural flight.
I'll leave you then, to guess the year, as we ladies do not discuss the numbers. For really-they mean nothing. When I asked her the other day, "How old DO you feel?" She replied, "I still feel 25."
We have not been without our ups and downs. We still field the odd bump in the road. But we love each other dearly, and fiercely. My mother loves figs, pears and dark chocolate. She is keenly sharp with remembering facts. (Don't even bother trying to play Jeopardy along with her, she'll beat you hands down every-time.)
She is an avid house re-decorator. I have a house myself full of all her old things. We've come to an agreement of late that there is to be no more passing on of items. I'm chock full. This is a bit of an inside joke around our place. :)
Growing up she baked cookies, breads, and more. It wouldn't be at all unusual to return home after walking the half mile from school to be greeted at the door with the smell of freshly baked goods. Whenever we acted up she would offer up a hug, a balm to heal whatever sparked our misbehaviour.
When she lost her own mother in 1997 she would often pick up the phone,-pause, then hang it up. I would ask her what that was and she would say, "Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to tell Mum." Then she would sit silently, only a tear in her eye. Gazing out the window, remembering. You see, like her and her mother before her, we too share a phone call a day. So that, would be a hard habit to break.
Now while she does have a traditional "stiff upper lip" that the Brits are famous for; she also possesses a very big heart, and an even kinder soul. She feels the pain of her loved ones so intensely, you'd think she had a direct umbilical cord still attached to that person. I could tell you stories that would leave you in disbelief, such as a phone call home because she knew my brother had cut himself with a knife. And he had (by accident of course.)
Her brilliant, technicolour and lucid dreams. (That is where I get it from.) Her dream one September 9, 2001 betokened an event so life altering, that on the day of 9-11, I called her in tears saying, "Mum, it was your dream."
So to the woman who introduced me to power walking, reading, Parma Violets, cups of tea, blogging (find my mum here, at Simple Indulgences), photography, painting, shopping for red purses, watching Absolutely Fabulous, dreaming of faraway lands, the romanticism of The Highwayman (which she can recite in it's entirety), the importance of applying excellence to everything you do; I wish you the best, most happiest of birthdays you've ever had.
Happy Birthday Mum.
xoxo
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