to be worried

Not sure if you can tell, but I am older today than I was when we spoke last. Perhaps age will bring a more mature, could I say, more intelligent writing style? Doubtful.

My friend was telling me that if one wants to have plants flowering in the garden every month of the year, go to a nursery once a month and buy their specials. Why didn’t I think of that? Probably because just about everything in my garden is a gift from a friend or my Mother. What I do have, usually, is a gorgeous June garden, because over the many, many years of my life, my Mother gave me a plant for my birthday and I brought them all with me to the island.

So on my birthday, normally, my garden is at its best. This year, although flowers are late coming, there are signs of good things to come. As I enjoyed every flower blooming on my birthday I grew more and more melancholy. I miss my Mom.

Who else appreciates your birthday more than your Mother? As I sat in the garden yesterday next to the Beauty Bush looking at the Ceanothus, waiting for the Meideland Rose to bloom and watching the yellow Tree Peony say goodbye for the year, I was surrounded by memories of my mom. She would have loved this garden. She would have loved to spend the day sitting in it with me. I miss her.

I spent the majority of the day sitting in the garden along with my memories and thoughts of her. We had a good visit. It was a perfect day. E then made a gorgeous dinner and my sister and brother in law joined us, bringing an incredibly decadent cheese cake for dessert. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that cheesecake is always going to make me happy. We toasted the day with Prosecco, a gift from another friend, and ate dinner on the deck for the first time this year. (It is June! unbelievable).

The year my Mom turned 65, she had just retired and I had had the first of our three children. The majority of the days of my life which I cherish and remember in detail began that year. It is cliche to mention that it only seems like yesterday but honest to Pete.. IT ONLY SEEMS LIKE YESTERDAY!

I worry that I will run out of time for my grandchildren to know me. My Grandma had thirteen pregnancies with one live birth. Mom was born three months premature in 1921 when Grandma was 35. World War II kind of got in the way of baby making in my Moms twenties and I was the third born when she was 35. Here I am at the same age as they were, beginning the Grandma stage of my life but I am reassured to know just how close, even with my late arrival to her life, that I was to my Grandma and how close my kids were to my Mom. But still, it does beg the question, will I have enough time with them?

On the up side, Grandma lived to 95, albeit in poor health but then Mom lived to 96 still reading a book a day, so there should be no need

to be worried

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