March 26, 2016. This is my mother’s birthday, and I have spent it (somewhat oddly) thinking about another’s mother – Mom Kendrick. This began in the wee hours piecing together how various rooms connected in the house I grew up in – yielding a flawed floorplan – but the sketching helped connect some dots of memories sabotaging sleep. For example, in the back bedroom helping Mother put up new wallpaper; and in the living room gleefully lending a hand the day a wallpaper pro pulled down the stained red roses that had covered those walls as long as I was old.
It fascinates – how memories overlap and create a loosely-woven backdrop for what’s going on in the present. Foorplan struggles were followed by not knowing where the pretty crystal near the kitchen door came from. I’m getting older, forgetting more! What to do? Gary’s mom zooms to mind, her habit of labeling everything. On the surface, her labels seemed foolish. But perhaps essential to her? How many were created in sleepless fits? I’m not about to label every souvenir rock, but here’s a nod to Mom Kendrick for aging and recording her own way – poetry serving as my way to record life.
The image (a collage) assumes a bit of poetic license – the floorplan (not true to scale) and the crystal are not in true proportion.