Once again, Mother’s Day competes with The Fishing Opener in Minnesota. This has been going on so long that it is no longer news. Some Mother’s are out fishing. Happy Mother’s Day to all.
I lead this message with a photo that would make my Dad smile. Dad, I suppose, would be considered a little eccentric by all of us. In his elder years, if we happened to be around him in the brief dandelion season, his flower of choice would be the dandelion. More than once I saw him present a modest bouquet to someone or other.
We are in dandelion season here.
So, consider the humble flowers a gift from, and in memory of, Henry Bernard, who died 25 years ago. I think his Mom, Josephine (Collette) Bernard, born 1881, died 1963, would approve. So would his grandmother – the one he actually met – Clotilde (Blondeau) Collette – born 1846 died 1916. And also his wife, my Mom, who preceded him in death by 16 years. And on and on and on….
We all have biological mothers. Someone had us – each one of us.
They had all of the emotions we all have about us as we make our course through life. Probably they practiced most of the imperfections we see in ourselves. Mothers (and Dads) and everyone come from that mistake prone species called human kind. The practice of parenthood is not perfect.
For whatever reason, this particular day leads me to think of a movie I attended with my daughter, Heather, on Wednesday of this week. It is perhaps an unusual one to focus on, here, especially by this old guy you might happen to know in person, but bear with me.
It’s the Super Mario Brothers movie 2023.
There are hundreds of reviews easily accessible. It is popular. I found myself getting quite engaged in it.
My oldest son was an arcade guy. He graduated from high school in 1982, and probably remembers the early days of these electronic games.
I’m not one to take in this kind of film. Heather wanted to go.
There in the theater, in my mind, at least. Mario’s came across as a ‘moral of the story’ film, amusing, fast paced, silly, preposterous, any other kind of descriptor you want…but a happy ending film, as it proudly declared on the final screen shot before going to credits. 90 worthwhile minutes.
Give it a go. Brian, from Brooklyn, it’s set in your town!
Happy Mothers Day, Mom.
POSTNOTE: Fred also recommends Pinocchio on Netflix.
Other recent posts:
Brownsville and Texas – our national war within; who are we?
The Great Placement – Immigration and Immigrants
Brown vs Board – Taking on segregation
from Molly: When I started a bit of computer browsing this morning, I opened a note about Mother’s Day from my friend Dick–mentioning a new post on his blog.
Look! A flash of orange along the river’s edge–
“oriole!” comes to your lips like instinct, then
it’s vanished–lost in the foliage,
in all your head holds, getting on with the day.
But not gone for good. There is that woman
walks unseen beside you with her apron
pockets full. Days later, or years, when you least
seem to need it–reading Frost on the subway,
singing over a candled cake–she’ll reach
into a pocket and hand you this intact
moment–the river, the orange streak parting
the willow, and the “oriole!” that leapt
to your lips. Unnoticed, steadfast, she gathers
all this jumble, sorts it, hands it back like
prizes from Crackerjack. She is your mother,
who first said, “Look! a robin!” and pointed,
and there was a robin, because her own
mother had said to her, “Look!” and pointed,
and so on, back to the beginning: the mother,
the child, and the world. The damp bottom
on one arm and pointing with the other:
the peach tree, the small rocks in the shallows,
the moon and the man in the moon. So you keep on,
seeing, forgetting, faithfully followed;
and you yourself, unwitting, gaining weight,
have thinned to invisibility, become
that follower. Even now, your daughter
doesn’t see you at her elbow as she walks
the beach. There! a gull dips to the Pacific,
and she points and says to the baby, “Look!”
–by Sarah Getty
from The Land of Milk and Honey