My son Owen, whose kindness toward others and gentle spirit call to mind this week’s one word photo challenge “pure.”
I discovered this wonderful old photograph of my mother Mary on her wedding day as I myself was celebrating at the home of my sister. This clearly staged scene (but fantastic nonetheless) is uncharacteristic of her as she was shy by nature so to view her “acting” is an extra delight. I could go on and on about her many tributes but she truly embodied kindness, selflessness and an endless love for her four daughters. We lost our beautiful mother five years ago but her memory lives on, in all of us. Happy Mother’s Day to all!
“See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings”
Alexander Pope Quotes , Source: Windsor Forest (l. 111)
I cannot say for certain when I first made his acquaintance or tell you the exact day he stole my heart. We had just moved to a small town in Connecticut from New York City following the 9/11 tragedy. Our new home’s family room sported an enormous glass window which overlooked the back yard, a spectacular bucolic setting of manicured jade green grass, magnolia trees and a pond, all bordering a 200 acre nature preserve. I was growing accustomed to the ubiquitous deer and red fox sightings but had never before encountered a pheasant and was not prepared for the effect his physical appearance bestowed, both in brilliance and beauty.
His presence, generally either early morning or late afternoon, was always announced by a loud and strange-sounding…
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For my father who I miss every day!
I am still learning about men.
I was one of four daughters, attended all girl catholic schools my entire life, never knew what a jock strap looked like, have no idea how to change a tire and never experienced the bright stadium lights at a night-time football game. My father did put up a basketball hoop once in our driveway, short-lived when the ball sailed through the glass pane of the garage door. There it stood neglected for years a sad testament to the son my mother never had.
My Scottish reared father never once expressed regret at not having a son. Rather, he reveled in his four daughters and life among them. He loved his girls. Though there were times we tried his patience. A flashback of his screams from the shower after being cut by a worn down razor blade used on too many female teenage legs. Or his…
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