Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mother's Day

A friend came over and took me out for lunch/breakfast at the local Village Inn. It was filled to capacity with others doing the same. He also introduced me to an Asian market that was incredible and one I intend to go back when I have some money. There was a bookstore within the store and I bought a children's book that looked very interesting.

My friend also showed me some ways of getting around Portland that I did not know about. For instance, the street that I lived on turned into another street that led to a highway the skirts Portland. He also showed me the street that leads me to Powell, the super bookstore that I adore. He also showed me a store where I can get some incense.

It was a beautiful day that was sometimes raining and then the skies would open into a patches of blue. I was wearing a light jacket. In Redding, I had given up wearing a jacket altogether as it is close to 80 degrees F. now. I marveled at the blossoms and flowers that were everywhere.

I had known my friends's mother when she was alive and it was evident he was missing her today but then he mentioned he missed her everyday. She was a wonderful lady with a cool intelligence. I was missing my mother too.

It was hard not to miss one's mother today. When my own mother passed away, we had no issues between us which makes it easier to bear the grief of her passing. We did not always get along. She called me a prima donna, stubborn and many other names I have forgotten over the years. She tried to mold me into her and I fought it and succeeded in being myself. I was someone who she did not understand and in the end she told me she was proud of the fact that I made it on my own.

My mother always told me that I dreamed too much and had way too much imagination that was good for me. I consider that some of the best assets of my life and was glad I gained that over the years. She thought I read too much although she read herself. She just never told anyone about it especially my father. To read and be female was not a good thing in the mid 20th century. Even my children think I read too much.

I wrote about a play that I saw in Ashland, Oregon at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, "August: Osage County"which showed me that each of us shows love in the best way we can. It just doesn't always mirror what everyone else defines love. It's the poetry of life, love; and my mother did the best she could as I did myself. My children and grandchildren may not agree with how I did things but it was the best that I could do. One has to cut some slack for our loved ones as they sometimes did for us. That is also the poetry of life.

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