| memories of mother |
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i was born in 1943 in vancouver.
mom was 21 and had offed alone to the coast to birth a son,
so a father off to the pacific war might see me |
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i remember her through the tiny crinkly black and white photos -
that showed her always moving, and often difficult life then -
always with a cheery smile in dreary circumstances |
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i remember falling a lot, from things high and things low -
from fences, wagons, bikes and trees, and even from bunk beds -
always to the comfort of her loving care. |
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i remember her putting me on the van
for the cross town ride to christopher robin pre-school,
sharp in blue cap and crisp white shirt. |
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i remember flying in the shuddering, shouting red cessna crane -
too confounded to get air-sick, too distracted, too amused
by her playing on the shaking floor with me, cardboard animals bouncing free. |
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i remember sitting on the curbside, half-way to school,
mesmerized by the sweeping hand of the pocket watch she gave me
so i would not be late for class. |
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i remember growing up by the elbow river - a boy’s paradise -
and her generous gift of freedom to explore the world -
the wandering, the fishing, the dreaming. |
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i remember my rich young friends having mere sandwiches for lunch,
when my mother served frogs legs and other culinary wonders,
and sometimes river trout and whitefish that ken and i had caught. |
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i remember our marvelous back yard and her tall purple flowers,
the swing our father built, the rabbit hutch, the sandbox, the croquet course,
and her amazing tolerance of my smelly worm farm under the porch. |
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i remember our picnics - in bowness park with canoes passing by,
by mountain lakes, in wooded valleys, in grandmas’ back yard -
her picnic basket full and sufficient - always ready to go. |
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i remember clandestine chemistry experiments in my basement laboratory -
that might have burned the house down or put me in hospital -
with her full confidence, half watching and half trusting me in whatever i did |
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i remember our first samoyed dog “roger”,
that by her command would not enter the living room,
and that corralled dr. alexander on a house call until she returned. |
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i remember hiding thin thin copper wire in the trees for radio antennae,
letting me hear the wondrous world of shortwave radio - that then
fell into the gardens after windstorm - “where did this come from?” she’d ask. |
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i learned electricity by repeating what history’s engineers had done.
i modified (destroyed) her kitchen radio to transmit to my friend a mile away.
i remember her often shouting “what are you doing to the tv?” when it flickered. |
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i remember her frequent punishment for my transgressions -
of sending me to my room where i could read and read and read -
it was no punishment, it was incentive |
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i remember washing dishes - a lot of dishes - far too many dishes! -
ken standing on a stool to reach the sink -
testing her patience by taking all the way to bedtime to finish. |
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i remember sneaking out of the house a few hours before sunrise
to go fishing, memorizing all the squeaky places on the stairs -
thinking her asleep, and not as she later told us, quietly laughing. |
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i remember her taking us to banff on the train with the observatory car -
of exploring and bicycling about the village we loved so much -
and learning with some surprise how much fun we were together. |
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i remember getting my 3 speed, ccm bike - complete with tire pump and kick stand -
so i could get to a saturday art college class without getting bus-sick -
and the great pleasure that bike gave me. |
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i remember when my welsh pony “trixy” occasionally escaped me,
she’d chase him cross country in the plymouth station wagon
and help me entice that angry creature home again. |
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when we moved to highwood and could wander the northern fields -
i’d pick saskatoon berries in buckets -
and she’d make marvelous saskatoon pies |
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arrangements were made to keep “trixy” on the airport near the beacon -
what is now the mccall golf course - so i clip-clopped my way across the city
and right up center street - because in calgary, horses have the right of way. |
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one spring the winds were strong and ken and i built a huge chinese kite -
stealing all her garden bamboo sticks. that halloween we used the dragon head,
a light and mike to scare away the children - lot’s of leftover candy that year! |
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i remember how father worked so long, so hard, so steady -
and could not come to our table, so she would take the family to him -
and on the station wagon tailgate we would share her casserole. |
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i remember learning how to drive -
when driving with father was a very strenuous exercise -
but she cheerfully, carefully, let me drive her white corvair |
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i remember when i failed the university, she put my feet on the ground again
by encouraging me to take over grandfather’s appliance shop.
she taught me to write business letters - always in third person, never in first! |
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her great gift of music was passed to each of her children - often against our will.
once her patience broken, she broke a wooden spoon on my belligerent head.
i thank her for even that lesson, for music has lighted my whole life. |
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i remember her piano playing - with the dog at her feet singing to her songs -
after supper - the family raptly listening to her impromptu concerts -
late at night - like a meditation. |
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my family is a family of pilots so i wanted to fly too.
i remember her encouraging me earn my pilot’s license.
she was my first passenger. |
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she waited 20 years to finish her own flying training -
because with each earlier attempt she had made to learn to fly,
she found herself pregnant again. |
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and when years later my own children bewildered me beyond understanding,
how with amazed remembering, i lately appreciated her patience and insight -
and how each generation ever learns the same lessons of life and love. |
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now her hair is silver and mine is gray.
her heart was always and still is gold.
today we honour her humour, her compassion, her integrity, her accomplishments |
nov 2012 elias