When I was younger my mother use to draw. She was an exceptional drawer; portraits and landscapes especially. She used to make these magnificent porcelain things: cookie jars, figurines, Christmas ornaments. When I was 10 years old, I broke the trunk off an elephant she made. I glued it back and never told her, but I’m pretty sure she knew. (she always knew). Eventually she just stopped making things I could break.

Sometimes I forget that my mother is brimming with talent. When we’re together we don’t talk about her so much; our conversations mostly revolve around me…how I’m doing, how work’s going, how my brother’s doing, and so on….and I guess that’s normal. I guess that’s what happens sometimes, when you’re a mother and someone’s life becomes more important than your own, and the things you may have loved to do, you have to let go of for whatever reason.

Last night John’s mother, Dianne, taught us how to knit a simple scarf. It was the perfect way to unwind after weeks of traveling. Just slow, meditative and methodical movements, one stitch after the next, over a hot cup of tea. More than anything, it was nice to simply share in her wisdom and talent. John and I don’t take the time to inquire enough; we’re always so busy, so self-involved.

We forget that our mothers, still, have so much to offer us.