explored the possibilities . . . art, life, love . . . in three words
Saturday, May 10, 2008
. . . owed my mother
big time . . . not only for my very life, but for the additional 57 years of taking care of me and worrying about me, my kids, and their kids, too. Today marks the anniversary of my father's death in 1986, and it's the day before Mother's Day, so I hereby promise to be nicer to my mom, to pay more attention to her and to visit her more often; and to appreciate the time we have left together. . . although I bet she's going to be around for a long, long time.
There are (very bad) pictures of a couple of the little evening bags she has made. The top one is made of silk attached to an antique silver purse frame. A complementary detachable jade green brooch is pinned to the front, and the handles are made of the same silk. The bottom one, my favorite, is made of a patch of an antique crazy quilt, silks and velvets, embroidered beautifully. The handle is made of a black silk ribbon, and again a detachable cameo brooch decorates the front. These are small bags, perfect for a dress-up outing, perhaps a wedding or event, and will hold the very basics that one would need for a night out. I would almost call them collector bags, or heirloom bags, because they are so delicate and precious. I am such a hermit that I have no use for evening bags; I avoid most social occasions and hate to get dressed up. These are the purses I would like to try to sell on etsy for her. . . but first I must figure out why my camera won't take good pictures of small items like this and some of my small paintings.
I would say that my relationship with my mother is typical. It's hard for me to see her grow older and to see her just accept it and sometimes use it against us. My mom's a strong-willed individual, and I don't like to see her give in to anything. I know people who blame their mothers for everything bad that has ever happened to them. Being a mother myself, for 33 years now, I have come to understand that most mothers do the best they can under the circumstances in which they find themselves. And, being a child, I will never fully understand the circumstances that influenced my mother. So . . . although Mom doesn't read this blog. . . sorry, Mom, for being a butt sometimes and causing you grief and not understanding, and thank you for all you did and continue to do for me, my family, my brothers and sisters and their families. I will try to do better. . . I miss Dad, too, and I love you. See you at lunch later.