Mothers Day

by Karen Phillips Curran

mothers day
Its a warm sunny spring day perfect, daffodils and soon there will be trilliums. It is the nature of an unpredictable force of nature that decrees what is blooming on Mothers day each year.
Alone this morning I prepare my best breakfast yesterday’s oatmeal with a cinnamon stick, almond milk to make it creamy, plump raisins and a whole apple cut up. All warmed together in the little orange iron pot I have used for years, just like the one I used for years before it…..
My thoughts turn to the gentle wonder of my life. Just coming off 6 weeks of physical labour at the NAC to a stupendous finale that is the Governor General Awards Gala, black tie and all but I didn’t go..not sure exactly why I didn’t, but I didn’t, so there is no remedy for that.

2014mothers day

This is the brass scumbled back wall of the orchestra risers for the Governor General Awards for the Performing Arts held at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa May 10th 2014.

So spring has sprung and outside work has begun. I should go out and pick up sticks this morning before the grass gets too high, and get some enamel to repaint the fence once again, before the grass gets too high! Bright blue is the colour choice!

After the annual game of pick up stix my field, my meadow, is ready for greening. I leave the tall wild perennials in the ground all winter to remind myself that one day they will be green and as tall as that! But mainly I do it because it breaks the snowdrifts into undulating blue-grey shadows in the low winter light.
Its hard work in the gentle spring sun. I inspect my laundry line, how far the lilac are creeping, check to see what large perennials have survived my wild garden, my meadow, my field. I get the big fork and remove the last remaining very large scotch thistle…I love how they look but their burs make me crazy.
I have a large burn pile ready and as soon as the water is hooked up and a hose can be run…it will wait.

On the studio couch, the south window behind me blows its sun-warmed breeze over my neck. My hair is up and tendrils are guided to dance by the breeze.
Road noises accompany music from the band I saw last night.
Time for tea I think.