Last night, I sent a British friend a message wishing her Happy Mother’s Day, just in case they celebrate Mother’s Day the same day we do (they don’t). Anyway, she sent me an article about Anna Jarvis… the woman who created Mother’s Day. It was an interesting read. None of Anna’s descendants celebrate Mother’s Day because Ms Jarvis was horrified by how commercial it became and wanted it rescinded. The article notes that Mother’s Day this year probably, in general, better reflected what was intended.
My Mother’s Day was certainly a joy.
My husband took it upon himself to make croissants from scratch, based on a recipe used by “Alex” – a Parisian You-tuber whom P has become very interested in. Despite fears and despair over quite a lot of butter leaking out while the dough was proving, the final product was a total triumph (see feature photograph). I said to P, if it hadn’t taken him 6.5 hours, I would ask him to make them every weekend. They really were exquisite.
The other joy was that, for once, I got to spend time with my own mother. Since I left my childhood home to go to University, we have rarely (if ever?) been in easy distance of each other on Mother’s Day. So this year, I took over some black rice porridge and we ate breakfast in the late autumn sun and shared a pot of plunger coffee. It was very indulgent.
With rules about socializing gradually easing, we were able to catch up with P’s side of the family for lunch. There were the croissants, some wonderful cinnamon twists and some truly delicious scones with jam and cream. We lolled about chatting luxuriously without the interference of digital oddities. The kids dashed around outside, coming in occasionally with frigid fingers and rosy cheeks, to show us some natural wonder they had found. I drank more hot drinks than can possibly have been good for me and felt some of the last few months of anxiety seep quietly away.
Nobody talked about gifts that you buy from shops. It was just so special to be together and spend time and share food.
And then, this morning, it was minus three and the bird bath had frozen over. Our daughter brought in a 3mm thick slab of ice and stuck it in the freezer. A memento? This all makes me so happy. The last few years, we’ve had no frosts until mid June. To have them in early May is a sign of things being vaguely right, to my way of thinking.
So much to love about quietness and family and winter coming on time.