Robots & Boobies
7.45am ( up at 7.30 am)
Mothers Day is a day to be be grateful. Grateful that I have a gorgeous mother and that I am blessed, blessed with the love of my two boys. But I am also a little sad that my eldest son is not with me today, he is at his dads for the weekend, I hope that he rings me later. Its also sad that I won’t be seeing my mum, she is at her home in Scotland, enjoying her peace. She is happy where she is in the place of her childhood dreams. I sent her a card, I hope that makes her smile. I will send her a text too.
Patrick is wondering why I am up so early when I had booked a lie in for Mothers Day, I remind him that I have to write this blog. Its not a chore, its an absolute pleasure, the opportunity to write and reflect upon my maternity throughout the duration of a year is a fortunate. I am glad that I have allowed myself this space and that on the whole my family have been supportive of me in keeping it.
Its Mothers Day. The cynic in me would say that today is for card manufacturers, restaurant owners, florists and chocolatiers to make an easy pound. The positive in me would say its a great opportunity to bestow your mother with thanks and love and kindness and to think about all the wonderful things small and big that she does each day. Mothers Day should be celebrated, mothers are heroes and gods to their children and children are gods to their mothers. Mothers of the world unite and take over.
My head is foggy because I began mothers day celebrations last night at my friends home together with all my dearest local mummy friends. We talked and ate delicious snacks, drank wine and listened to music, simple, pleasurable, and calm. Walking home my legs felt as if I had been riding a horse; perhaps too much exercise or not enough stretching.
I walked and ran and walked out onto the moors. I had hoped that the bridle path would have been deserted but instead I met a fell race the Hepworth Hobble coming in the opposite direction. I felt very self conscious and occasionally ran in-between a lot of walking and runners bidding me well with an Ei Up or Mornin. I was intrigued by them, I watched how they moved, what they wore, could I really be one of them? I paused at an outcrop of rocks and took in the sheer beauty of the valley, rugged, bleak, cold. I noticed a crowd of trees and how they miraculously hung out of a sheer cliff side.
I met Patrick and Naoise at the local pub for lunch. I ate bad food chips and cheese and chicken. I ate bad food and it tasted great. At home it was a day of making plaster models and painting. Robots and Breasts. Naoise made us laugh as the plaster was drying he said ” the boobies are harder than the Robots”.
At breakfast time we all had a laugh watching a clip from the Woody Allan film Everything that you wanted to know about sex * but were afraid to ask. I found a small grant being offered by the Hebden Bridge Arts festival £250 for artists to propose work in response to the theme ‘The Hills are Alive’. I’d like to propose a project that used the grant to make a giant pair of breasts. I would then release them onto the moors above Hebden Bridge to bounce and cause havoc and perhaps they would roll Prisoner style down the cobbles of Market Street in the town centre. This would be so much fun, it would be so naughty, I should do it, but sadly I don’t think £250 would cover the costs or the public liability. I will look into it.