Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the tag “mother daughter relationship”

The unexpected melancholy of others

Summer is at it’s end. I feel the sadness and melancholy of others, in other places. I feel it and it’s not even mine – and yet it is me – in earlier years.
The children have gone back to school
autumn is drawing close in the northern hemisphere
the end of august,
still a few warm, sunny days to be enjoyed
but the days are getting shorter again, the evenings darker.
Soon the trees will break into the finale and launch natures own fireworks
the announcement that summer is indeed over for this year.

I feel it, even tho where I live it’s perpetual summer according to some.
It isn’t; but the seasons aren’t as pronounced this close to the equator.  Peculiarly enough
it is the winter I treasure the most here, even tho the vibrancy of autumn is still my favorite.

On my inner screen, years and geographical distances is no obstacle;
one aspect of me is driving down a lane in France in an old split screen Citroen
the weather blustery and the road covered in fallen leaves turning brown.
And I want to be there in body too
feel the crispness in the air and the light rain on my face
as I get out of the car and pull my jacket tighter, hands in pockets
delighting in the bursts of colour of my new scarf.

Or in the garden where my parents once lived.
I am walking around in this no-time land like a ghost
the sound of the silos drying the harvest in the far distance ever present this time of year.
The bright red garden furniture my mother restored all those years ago
the droning of the drowsy bumblebees, enjoying the last of the Nasturtium.
A younger version of me, new notepad on her lap, pen poised
waiting for inspiration that won’t come
before giving up and reading someone else’s prose instead.
Transported instantly to another place and time
where something worth writing about actually happens.
She dreams about cities where there is music to be heard and others like her to make friends with;
who reads books, likes art, go to the theater and to see a live ballet,
far from immature teens with their cigarettes and beer-cans, smelly locker-rooms and spots.
Where the people with dreams and aspirations live…
For a minute I too want to red wooden garden furniture
in a fruitless attempt to somehow connect with mother in a way we, me and I, never could.

Picture blurs, and clears once more
New school, new books, new jeans
the promise of new, hope of new friends
maybe even a fanciable boy…
Sitting at a desk
when I’d rather enjoy the last days of summer, cycling to the lake and going for one last swim.

The brochures of evening and hobby classes drops through the letterbox
see what tempting things we have on offer this autumn!
All in the name of trying new things and exciting adventures and the hope of meeting kindred souls.
Special offer Sunday lunch with friends after a brazing walk, lazy late afternoon drinking tea or wine.

It is the quiet exuberance time of the year
the enrich the soil of my mind – nourish my spirit time of year.
Not the loud jump up and down and dance of spring and summer.
It’s the tgi the weekend of my school-years
not to go out or partying
but to be allowed to spend time as I choose, with whom I want, well – to a degree…
A break away from the noisy crowds of competing children,
school corridors, playgrounds and gym-class.

All while the cats snooze in the midday heat
a gentle breeze keeping the mosquitoes at bay
just dregs left of my coffee.
The far side neighbor is on his lunch-break; Mexican popular music is pounding for all to hear.
I briefly wish our trusty bike would miraculously transform into a truck
where everything was ready and packed including the cats
and we could just jump in and take off onto our next adventure…
It’s time to go inside.

Pic from the web, I can't quite make out what the watermark says.  If this is your property and you want me to remove it please drop me a line.

Nasturtiums.  Pic from the web, I can’t quite make out what the watermark says. If this is your property and you want me to remove it please drop me a line.

 

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Coffee, mothers and daughters

THE SCENT of coffee so faint in the air, wafting in through the window from somewhere. In my mind I can still see the bright red garden furniture my parents used to have, the corner of the garden where they used to be placed, next to the red-current bush and the flowers in their sloping bed , all shielded from view by a hedge.

At that time the energies of that corner was soothing and calm most of the time.  No matter how hard at times, it was still life as we once knew it. The short summer months made us appreciate and the balmy evenings even more. Is the place I remember from whenever still there? It is on the map, google says so, but energetically?  Probably not. On my last visit the whole community felt dead or dying.

Now I’d like a garden you can sit in without being eaten alive… Without having to shout to be heard over the traffic and out of sight of the world and his wife.

As usual I always want what I didn’t or cannot have, be it an impossible equation or just not an option. Or the price too high to pay, but then, isn’t a few highs better than a straight line? A slow heart-beat rather than flat-lining in an emotional sense.

I always imagined that at some point, always in the future, I’d visit and we’d sit in the garden, somewhere in a garden, and have our coffees and be friends at last. Isn’t that what most daughters want with their mothers? No such luck.

I suppose I’m old enough now to technically have a grown daughter, of my heart if not my blood, but I still occasionally wish for someone to fill that role for me too.
I also wish that some day we’d got on, one day she’d accept me for who I am and not just see me as the black sheep, the replacement baby for the son they lost, the daughter she never ”got”. We cannot make people understand us, and this may be especially true for the first wave indigo adults as we really did not naturally fit the norms of what was expected of us. We broke every rule by just existing. We didn’t so much ask for understanding, just for acceptance. Love. To be heard and listened to. Guess that was in short supply. After all, it’s kind of difficult to give what you haven’t got. And even when we do, it does not necessarily live up to expectations, did it mother?

Thing is, it does not even have to be a mother. Just an older woman of companionable nature. I don’t spend much time lamenting over missing out on the whole mother-daughter thing anymore, but I think to some degree we all long for that wise & unconditional acceptance we all hope to get from someone.

So I hanker after an illusive past that I never got to have, how very constructive a way to live your life – not.

So I have instant coffee with myself (and a notepad and my favorite pen) at the kitchen table with the red bistro table cloth from France, but it just isn’t the same.

-That’s why you have cats – and dogs – little bundles of love wrapped up in lovely fur! I’m caught by surprise by this timely comment from Miaowser, who yawns before going back to sleep on the chair next to mine. Indeed Miao-Cat, indeed.

Catpaw on July 4th, 2012.

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