THE PERFECT MOTHERS DAY

You know, I've never really thought about Mother's Day very much. My own parents didn't make a lot of to-do over such invented holidays, and other than birthdays we weren't taught to pay too much attention to such things. Be good people, don't break too many things, clean up reasonably after ourselves. Don't get into trouble unless it is necessary.

Not being a parent, or female, it's not something I can really get inside of.
But never-the-less, I've kind of given it some thought.


What would I want on Mother's Day?


A cup of coffee out on the patio, with the nearby garden in bloom. Forsythia bushes. Mutton korma for breakfast, with Parsi onion rice, and a fried egg. Maybe some flowers. Familiar smells and noises from the house. Children grown-up, with careers that keep them balanced and happy. Cats. And a tin of Turkish cigarettes near the glass ashtray on the patio table.

As well as good new novel.


I'm not much for expressive stuff, and as far as the housework is concerned, as long as beds are straightened upon rising, the kitchen stuff washed by whoever used these immediately afterwards, and there are no sticky fingerprints all over, it's all good.


I miss the patio of our house in Valkenswaard, and even though I ended up doing all the gardening because of my mother's lumbago, those forsythia bushes occupy a fond place in my head. They were quite lovely.

Plus who doesn't like coffee, good curry, and a smoke?




I don't think that I would've been a suitable parent.





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