Mothers, Mamas, Moms
Mother's Day is usually very difficult for me since I lost my Mom, but this year, it is as if she decided that it was enough with the "weeping and gnashing of teeth." Instead of dwelling on my loss, I sent my friends, male and female, the following e-mail, which received very positive feedback. I am therefore sharing.
I usually send out Friday Funnies but the thought came to me to send out greetings to Moms in particular, although some guys are copied on this. Hint guys, Sunday is Mothers' Day.
I usually send out Friday Funnies but the thought came to me to send out greetings to Moms in particular, although some guys are copied on this. Hint guys, Sunday is Mothers' Day.
To be honest, I am not sure if I will be functioning by Sunday, because I am already getting weepy. It does not help that I am playing Highway 20 Ride, which is really about fathers. Since I mentioned it, I will send the link. Be prepared. If you are a father who found himself in this situation, you will be moved.
OK, onto the women! I will make this up as I go along. The first thought that came to mind is poetry. The poem following is not about mothers per se, but I like it and I offer all of those daffodils to moms.
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Ladies, dance with daffodils, dance with wolves, just dance! Forget the wolves. Dance with your hubbies and life!
William Shakespeare has a way of putting things in perspective. He sums up our lives below:
All the World's a Stage by William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
So before you get to the "sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything" stage, laugh and love one another and the kids!
To those husbands out there, whether your wife is a mother or not, you cannot go wrong by using the following guidelines.
A Word to Husbands by Ogden Nash
To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.
Now that you have learned how to handle a woman, Part I, time to move to Part II. You move in for the "kill." She will melt!
Even if you cannot sing this song as well as Steve Holy, whisper those words, she will love you forever!
To quote myself from my book, I want a husband who will sing or say this song to me, even if "mirror, mirror on the wall," when asked "who is the fairest of all"?.....yells back "it ain't you!"
And now for the piece de resistance. I was actually at this concert with my CBF (co-best friend) Norma!
I hope that my Mom and my adopted Mother are both looking down from Heaven and seeing better things in store for me, financially, but at least proud of the way I try to conduct my life spiritually, morally and ethically.
Putting this together was cathartic. I think that I will be all right on Sunday. I will just adopt everyone else's Mom (Toyin, look out!).
Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there!
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