Mother & Daughter ~ a Reversal of Roles

At the funeral of my aunt a few months ago I met a young cousin again after about 50 years and, for the first time, her husband. We all enjoyed our meeting and swapped email addresses.

As we got to know each other over the emails, it emerged that we had both had similar experiences in so far that we had both spent years in a cult, mine ignorantly but by choice, Lois was born into it.

When Lois left the meetings, as usually happens, there was a rift between her and some family members. My Aunt was her Mother; with Lois’ permission here is a beautiful interchange between the mother and daughter:

Quote from Lois (with her permision):
After I sent today's email to you I remembered a poem I had written. It was a poem about Mum (I've written numerous poems about her!) This one mentions her oiled baking tins. I think it captures something of our relationship. She told me some years ago that we had nothing in common anymore (because I had stopped going to the meetings and married) that was a tragic statement from my point of view - we still had a rich shared history along with heaps of other things. Anyway, this poem is a response to that particular statement. She never saw the poem, though I attempted to talk to her (in a letter) about the fact that I thought we still had lots in common - being female, being mothers, having daughters, sharing a love of the natural world, being thrifty, being mean scrabble players etc etc.
A Letter

Do you remember preserving peaches
the pursuit of perfect seals
our pleasure in concave domes
as jars cooled?

I remember the day at the river
your private thighs emerged
from nowhere, clothed in woolen togs.
You paddled like a lone dog.

Do you remember playing scrabble
while the clock ticked and tocked?
We built word bridges and crossed over
from generation to generation.

I remember your weekly baking
turned cleanly from oiled tins
which knew neither scour of brush
nor bite of soap.

Do you remember the spun fleece?
A filigree shawl of dreams
you threaded through your wedding ring
and sent to keep my baby warm.

So when you write of separate paths
uncommon ground, a different view
I say to you
I’m of a mind to disagree.

Spring is in the Air

or: Use number 382 for a wheelybin

With built in skate board!

Noah Ryan Luka Weston
Born 18th October 2006, 6lb 15oz
To Peter & Jill
To Tasha, Hamish, Liam, Nathan & Tahlia.
To all of us, a precious gift.

(He looks a bit like Liam) :)

I was listening to some commentators on the radio; they were talking about blogs, one person was saying how common and predictable they are, “PLL-EASE,” she said, “Get a diary.”

So me ponders, why not a diary?

The difference is that no one reads another’s diary and blogs are actually meant to be read by anonymous people or dearest friends & relatives. I would probably write the same things in a diary but it would NEVER be answered, probably be thrown out with the junk when I am deceased and my day to day living would be lost.

Who knows, maybe one day my Grandchildren will read this, and even like me for it.

If you don’t mind I think I will keep on blogging. :)