Joyous

Best Mother's Day Ever.  I know you've heard this before but I LOVE MY KIDS!  And, you also know my relationship with my own mom has been a struggle.  But, on May 8th, all the planets were aligned to make my world right.

Many women artists have had difficult relationships with their moms.  We just don't fit the mold they intended for us.  But, I'm not satisfied.  I don't want this barrier between us.  I want to get to forgiveness; I want to get to unconditional love.  I made stabs at writing her letters...too bitter, too angry.  That's just not me.  Instead, I ordered a book for her from Amazon.com.  The newest in the Ann B. Ross Miss Julia series, Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle.  The following week, I got the sweetest thank you note, written and signed with love.  (You know southern women have to send thank you notes!)  I called her early on Mother's Day.  She was crying, explaining she had just had the most beautiful dream about the whole family--the living and those in spirit--coming together for Mother's Day.  She loved the card I sent her, "It blessed me," she said.  When she asked what was new on my horizon, I told her I was being trained to be a hospice volunteer.  "You were born to do that."  I was moved.

Later that morning, my son, daughter and her fiance, came to put together brunch for a queen.  We start with mimosas...well, I AM a native Floridian so we must have orange juice!  I'm watching my daugher and future son-in-law in the kitchen, working side by side in a happy rhythm I can only marvel at.  My son, yelling at the TV, as his favorite English soccer team, Chelsea, is getting skunked by Manchester United.  "I've watched this entire season and they lose the most important game!"

We move to the sun-soaked deck, piling our plates with omelets and grits.  Yes, they made grits in my honor!  GRITS=Girls Raised In The South....you've seen that at Cracker Barrel, right?  But, I can barely eat, I'm nervous.

We're running late.  They get up to clean the kitchen and tell me to go to Bethesda, they'll be ten minutes behind me.  Remember?  The Mother's Day Poetry and Prose Open Mic Reading at The Writer's Center.  I haven't done this in over 30 years.  The night before I narrowed my selections, timing and practicing the three I chose.

I sign up.  "Five minutes."  That means I can only read one.  Dwayne.  Within thirty minutes the room fills.  My son and daughter, sitting on either side of me.  I ask her to videotape me with my cell phone.  Ten readers.  It becomes clear that these are truly gifted writers, most having published books.  The performance poets are delightfully dramatic.

Then, it's my turn.  I can't wait to get up there!  Yeah, my legs are a little shaky but my voice is strong.  I start and it just tumbles out of me.  It was comic relief, sort of a welcome respite in the sea of emotional turbulence.  The audience laughed in the right places, the applause so worth the scariness.

Afterwards, my son and drive home with the top down, the wind blowing us like free spirits, racing to beat the imminent storm.

But, the piece de resistance was watching the video later and hearing the adorable giggles coming from my girl as she was taping.  She's the one who complains about TMI but sends it to her friends...lol.

Life is joyous!