Portents come to you for a reason, there are those who will argue the validity of signs I’m not talking to them in fact they can go to hell. This is a story about a woman who decided she knee better than the gods goddesses and the Almighty Creator.
Love is such a thing that people do anything for it including ignoring the signs the universe puts in their path.
It was a beautiful late Summer day no clouds, light breezes, just perfect. It was my wedding day. There were some hitches, easily overcome. My sister forgot to order a cake, so I baked my own, my flowers were wrong but after brief argument with the florist they were made right. My dress was a loan from a dear friend my shoes new things seemed to be going right, at least I thought. The serving staff at the Kent Manor Inn laughed at my home made cake which was a mild irritation. The cake itself was delicious which is far more important as most wedding cakes taste horrible. Karma will catch those gigglers.
As my father and I proceeded down the path to the waterfront trellis where the man who did not love me but was willing to marry me waited with the Right Reverend Shand, sirens began to blare in the distance and the breeze carried a thick black acrid smoke across the water creating a haze. More of an annoyance than anything right? We waited a few moments for the breeze to push the smoke away and the noise to die down.
The Reverend began and so too did our 20 month old son. He was bored. Children should never be taken to special events but he was our child and this was our wedding we did not anticipate him deciding that climbing the trellis and behaving like King Kong was the best thing to do. After several minutes someone kindly peeled him away from the arbor which was swaying wildly with his movements and all was seemingly right. Except it wasn’t as I soon felt hand tugging at my veil. I proceeded to ignore whatever it was going on behind me and spoke my troth and as he was speaking his someone hissed “dammit there’s two of them in there.” and there was more fiddling with my veil. Turns out I had two bees caught in the fabric and I’m grateful I was not stung as I am anaphylactic. And while this might seem just a bit anecdotal in retrospect it was I think the gods way of warning me of the mistake I was making.
The economy sucks most everywhere. Millions of people are without work. Millions of people in the United States are living in abject poverty as the direct result of big business farming jobs out to other nations to be done by workers in other nations being exploited for maximum profit. When does it end?
TV Shows where venture capitalists sit and listen to business propositions and these so called moguls demand controlling interest and explain that manufacture overseas is best for profit setting forth a vicious message that the ideal of employing Americans is too costly. AND yet these same men and women want the Americans they rejected to buy their products. When will we take a stand and say I am sorry I cannot help you because you refuse to help me. We have gone from thriving to surviving.
Business works one way and one way only. You have a product. I want the product. Product has a cost. I either have or do not have the money. If I have a good job that pays a living wage I can afford your product if I do not have a job I cannot afford your product. So in order to compensate for loss of customer base prices rise and more people are laid off work. BUT how often can this happen before the Rich merchant realizes that there are no more people to afford his product? How Long before the latest Marie Antoinette loses her head in a revolution driven by hungry people tired of the rich demanding more from coffers which are already empty? Who will be the modern Marie? I would proffer a list of the world’s wealthiest people but I dare say they would panic over the thought of someone ponder a very real question.
Mother is an ideal. Not all women are mothers. Not all mothers are women.
The ideal of mother is that of the care giver who selflessly nutures and supports we fragile creatures as we travel our path through this life. Gifts from mothers are a kiss on the brow, a hand offering a gentle caress, the stern face and rebuke when we do wrong, the silence and tears as we grow and make mistakes. This person, this …mother… she is inside us all. The memories, hopes, expectations, comforts and fears that build the picture of mother are universal. Succor and comfort coupled with indomitable will and strength are the very fiber of mother.
We are all blessed with knowing someone who is a mother: be it the woman who brought you into this world, a friend, a wife, a sister, an aunt, or kind hearted stranger. There are even those few men: fathers, uncles, brothers who find themselves floundering in what many consider a woman’s role because the woman who was supposed to hold the title of mother is no longer there, by choice or fate. These men attempt to fill a void so crucial to the psyche that they too deserve kudos. You each know who the mothers are in your life, take time to honor them for there is no harder job on earth with no exact manual and there is no support staff or vacation for those who truly are mothers.
Happy Mother’s Day
One often shares the best of times over a cup of tea in the company of a friend.
The hands of an archeologist are gentle when removing artifacts from their tombs.
Restoration of fractured beauty is done by skilled artisans whose painstaking labors breathe new life into shattered creations.
Mending the past by weaving frayed threads or using traditional recipes for color to bring vibrancy to that which has dulled.
I need those hands.
I prefer to unravel rather than cut
Cutting is more effective
Cutting is painful
Cutting is severing
Unraveling is slow
Unraveling is frustrating
Unraveling is gentle
Rough people cut because they cannot be troubled
Barbarians with broad swords
Thugs with knife
Butchers with cleavers
Gentle people unravel because they need to see the original preserved
Old masters with brushes
Archeologists with fine tools
Philosophers with nimble thought
When brute meets brain there is war