On soft dim wet summer mornings as the humidity rises to fill the air I am reminded of the days when I heard my mother moving busily around the kitchen. Knowing I had to soon rise and busy myself in putting on uniform and packing my port for school I would devise a reason to stay home.
Mum would come in and say,: "Ready darling?"
I would moan and say, pleadingly; "Can I stay home with you today?"
Sometimes, knowingly, she would agree as long as I had not not done homework or didn't have anything important to hand in for school.
Snuggling back down under the quilt she would bring me toast and milk and a colouring-in book.
The sound of the rain would hush down outside and mum would turn on her radio to listen to her serials and polish the floors. At first she did it by 'knee', kneeling down on an old towel and with the chairs up on the table would apply the floor polish by hand.
Just as 'kindergarten of the air' was starting she would have waited long enough for the polish to dry then back on her knees again she would start to buff off the polish.
This morning was such a morning.
Soft intermittent rain sighed down onto the ground and I turned to hubby and told the story of my mum. I realised then that there is several generations now and into the future who will not experience such a feeling of comfort, reassurance and surety that I had. One where a darling mother moved hummingly, deftly around a home doing her work...cleaning, cooking, caring firm in her belief that a woman's work is never done. That which is should be done well and constantly.
The feeling arose once again that I as her daughter was cared for, loved, considered, put first.
An overwhelming understanding hit me.
Al these young'ns out there self serving, demanding, spoilt with 'things', hankering after the materials that money can buy, are dismal in their place in their mothers heart.
Hubby had a working mum. She never stayed home to care for her sick children. It was a matter of putting them to bed and going back out to earn her $5 an hour. There was no unconditional care, humming worker in the home, smells of baking wafting from a warmed and bright old kitchen. It was rush and go and hurry and pushes asides.
Looking back now I can see I did the same for mine when it was no longer fashionable to do so. We were a stuggling couple on one wage, just making the payments for the mortgage and cutting corners whenever wherever we could. No new things, no keeping up with the neighbours, the school mates of the children, no holidays, no expensive, expansive Christmases..just plodding, fiscally tight, closely watched budgeted times.
I tried most days to make sure before I drove out to pick the kiddies up from school, to talk to the teachers, to run through their day with them, that I had been cooking something, anything, so that they would enter our run down house that was filled with smells of baked apples, floured pastry or stewing meats and veges.
The snuggly, warm, smells of home, the gentle arms of an accepting mum, the cooing noises from the hub of the house, the murmurs of the radio, music rising with her heart are still with me.
And now I have been told that I have filled that niche in a little boy so long ago who needed that too. He grew into a loving and dedicated dad who picked me, a woman without ambition except that to love, nurture and dedicate to family and whatever hovel we managed to acquire.
I wonder how my children will interpret this in their own lives.
One has said; "I can't have children because I can't do what you did".
Another said; "I don't think it is possible, is it , anymore so will you be there for my children when they come?"
And the third; "I don't want to give anything of myself like you did. It seems too hard."
Still.
I thank my mum.
I miss her like you do your own loving thought.
She was my guide, my giving, loving, sweet, strong, gentle, smelling mum.
Ta, dear lady.
