Mothers' Day Blog

My grandmother ...  She used to put her hand into her dress and hold her heart.  I grew up and did the same quite unconsciously until some aging office-bitch pointed out that it was pure obscene.  Who knew?

I do have pictures of her, but since this is the Drawing Bind blog ...

She was my comfort in her "feather bed" and my nurse when I was ill, my carer with a neglectful eye which gave me my freedom, for four and a half years, to roam "the forest" (a clump of bluegum trees) and the farm (a small holding on the wrong side of the tracks (literally) and she gave me a puppy for company and protection.  

I drew this picture thinking about those days and how I saw it in my looking back glass.  The moon was a big thing in our lives.  She blew my warts off to it.  I keep waiting for NASA to report on finding them, but they were small and I expect hard to find under the Moon dust and all.

She told wild and wonderful stories that always managed to involve the railway station and her running away with a good smacking of fairyland thrown in for child friendly material.  She gave me my first paint brush and I had to make do with a stick for a pencil, but she taught me to write my name in the sand.

I wish I had pictures of all the people that worked that little bit of land because I had many mothers.  A child, they say, is raised by a whole village.  I was raised in such a village.

My mother I only really got to know when she forgot who I was.  Note to the young.  Don't wait that long.  But, Mommy Dearest didn't make getting to know her easy.  No matter.  We were all good in the end.

  

This is how we remember her. 

Always with a smile on her face, come to think of it, never mind her Virgo nature.  She cooked fabulous food and my most endearing memory of her was when I had measels. I was about 9 years old.  She read me a whole book, a book which she reveived as a child from her grandmother. I never imgained my mother as a reader, but when I found the book "In God's name" She was most disturbed to find out that I had read it.  More surprised was I.  Who knew she read (stuff like that).   I wanted to protect her more than I needed protection.

 

 

Then there are, as always there are, other mothers.  A child is lucky to have other mothers who bring light into their lives.  My Pincipal, Sr Cyril was that other mother for me.  She wrote to me after school, all the way up to her nearly passing away, and guided me through my obstacle ridden life, mostly self inflicted I might add, and was the only authority I accepted with regards to my writing.

 

I wrote her long letters, as I did to my mother and others, but she was the only one who one day wrote back and said, "try to get published."  I still have the letter.  I did try.  I am still in a slow way trying, though what to say to the crazy world right now, I wouldn't know exactly.

 

 

The other "girls" in the pictures are all mothers, my class mates, and we are all still in contact and still are friends.  I think we shared this other mother in equal measures.

 

 

   

 My beautiful sister, Brenda.  Without her ... who knows?

She's mother to Mr Thomson... seen here in the painting.  And, of course, she mothers Wins and me with a firm hand. 

 

 

 

My beautiful baby sister, Winnie, without her we would not have been able to laugh at it all!  She mothers us back. 

 

 

 

Then I became a mother, a little later than most of my friends.

 

 

 

The picture below was taken in 1993 before most of us left the country. 

 

Things got very real after that.  It was a happy day. 

The whole side of my children's father's family together with Granny, the Mother of Mothers. 

 

My first born, first left in the front row, is now also a Mommy.

 

 

Somewhere in the archives is this picture of Renee as a ... four year old-ish running close to the surf in a yellow costume while on holiday with my sisters and mother - not really ready for my darling girl who has always been a wild horse - the free kind that couldn't be stabled back in the day when we called the West Wild and ... a beautiful dark maned creature that wouldn't let you put a bridle on her if her life or yours, mostly yours, depended on it.  I love this picture because she is still that little girl racing in the waves, only now she is carrying her beloved son who is just like her.  Soon they will be running along the surf together and be oblivious to the palipations of all those who must watch this excersie of freedom ... you want to shout MIND!  BE CAREFUL!  but you know it's useless. They are going to leap into the white foam whether you like it or not. 

 

 

Motherhood.



Not for softies.

Photo credit:   Rick Taylor

 

 



 

 

But where would be without Dad.

 

 

 

Elaine - "Dad"

 

When the lad came along His aunty was officially "Dad"

She is one of his other mothers and how lucky he is too.  If anyone, other than his mother, will understand his little Libra Moon heart it shall be she, the one who knows, our very own Baba Yaga.

 

 

 

Greta is my step daughter, but her mother, Madam President, lets me love her like my own.  Below are her lovelies and her beauty shines through their eyes. 

 

I don't know who took the pictures - thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We are still waiting for more littlies from Pier's daughter.  For the moment we will accept the fury friend as offspring.  Delightful, the pair of them.

 

 

Photo credit:  Unknown.... but good one.



And the picture would not be complete without Madam President.

 

Lovely picture Madam President - Happy Mother's day.

 

 

That's it.  For the record.  Life so far while boxing in big cities close and far.

 

Jesus save you and bless you.