"The business of life is the acquisition of memories."
I'm quoting Downton Abbey here. Season 4 if I'm not mistaken - where it goes on to say, "In the end that's all there is to it, afterall."
Sobering. And to the point. And true.
Here ( actually, the pic up there) are my Mother's Day knick knack memories - in posted pictures:
- a can of mixed nuts ( always crazy for mixed nuts!)
- 2 newly bought books ( been a while - glad I found a real swell copy of Scarlett Feather. My old copy is torn bad to bits)
- girlie blue flower sneaks ( so sweet and cheap - hard to resist, haha!)
- my forever, never to wilt flower power ( whatcanisay? I'ma' practical gal, lol!),
- and a framed photograph of my sons at that adorable age when I was still queen mommy of the wild wide world of the wise, in their eyes! I miss those days.
Now here's a glimpse of my flower homey - my nest, the sacred space where all the mother feather(ing) action happens. It has a hue of its own, an obliging energy that takes the mood of the moment (always) to give off converted vibes of comfort - much like trees do' - sucking environment and processing to exhale oxygen.
My hearth pulses alive and encompassing in kindness. Old walls absorb our daily frantic rush, our loopy gaggling' guffaws, our ever pedantic sermons, our complications, our prayerful vocations, our whispered adorations and, yes, my feral shrieks when I kinda' go ballistic, hehe!
As much as I mother the flesh of my own, my home mother's me. It mother's my dreams, my longings, my fears, my creativity, my plans, the dusk of my darkness, the light of my soul - it mother's it all.
Holly and holy, feathered corners speak of sacred..of the Queen of Heaven and her perpetual help, of the Christ Prince of Peace, the Holy Family, the dedication to the Lord Father for whom dwellings tell, "As for me and my house,we shall serve the Lord," of Buddhist blessings of zen mindfulness, and of ancient Hestia's goddess function for the Okios: home is temple -- the hearth house of socio religious and political stability.
There is a day for the applause of Mother's....but a day is nary enough to capsule the entire cost and profit of a woman's life baptized in motherhood. There is mutiny of emotions, volumes of recollection, the complicated merger of pleasure and pain in the acquisition of memories to stamp a date dedicated to the august of parenthood.
I remember Mother's Day gone past - when my sons were boys..the flowers and cards and kisses...scribbled notes. But even more in my heart is etched those o-r-d-i-n-a-r-y days when there was nothing to commemorate. How they'd come to me with wild flowers- an offering of their innocence...days when they'd hand me notes - cute crooky drawings to show love for mommy...
Those..are the days I treasure most. Not a specific Mother's Day - but a string of Mother Days that braid all moments to today.
Days of feathering the nest, they are a celebration....and each moment we parent the day, inspite of its setbacks and tantrums and misbehaving minutes is a toast to the good times....
Life is memories, a continuous feast of faithful memories if we make it so. Tis' the business of life - and that's all there is to it - in the end - afterall.