The day after Mother's Day / My mother loved horses / Mother's Day left-handed drawing / Mother Beluga and Baby Beluga

This is for my mother who would have been 106 years old on April 30 and who gave up riding horses to get married and have children.  She was gifted in many ways, one of which was riding horses.

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On Mother's Day, I sat down at my drawing table with a piece of bristol board paper and a set of poétique watercolor brush pens that were given to me by a friend recently.  With my left hand, I drew what was in front of me at my drawing table.  Just now I finished what I had begun yesterday, adding words and letters and symbols to the background, all with my left hand. The Day of the Dead figure belonged to my mother who not only rode horses well but had the gifts of writing and of being able to be creative in so many ways.  

Our relationship was difficult for reasons I will never fully know.  Her relationship with her mother was difficult for reasons I will never fully know.  Who knows how long that pattern was repeated.  I have no children and will not carry on that pattern.  I sense that my creative life is something that few mothers in my line were able to have.  From what I could see, my mother experienced agonizing conflict regarding her life as a wife and mother.  She pursued a creative life once my sisters and I were grown.  When I sense her presence now, it is peaceful in a way it never was when she was alive.

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My grandmother and my mother in 1916 in Minnesota:

My mother and me in 1949 in California:

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"Sing your little song, sing for all your friends, we like to hear you"

At noon today I sat down in a natural foods grocery store cafe near a relaxed-looking mother and her two young children. Her baby girl was sitting in a shopping cart and looked over at me out of curiosity. I smiled at her baby girl and said, "Hi! How are you today?" She studied my face in that careful way that babies do and then frowned. I continued to smile at her and began to clap my hands lightly. She smiled and reached out her hand to me. I mirrored her by reaching out my hand. We played a game of alternating clapping and reaching and smiling. I asked her mother how old she was and found that she was 1 year old. During this time, I was also aware of her little boy as he ate his sandwich and looked at me shyly. Then the little boy turned to his mother and said something I couldn't hear. His mother said to him, "Go ahead. You can tell her how old you are." He looked up at me and said that he was 3 years old. Then I remembered how it felt to be a shy older child who was ignored while adults gave all their attention to a baby. I turned my full attention to him, and something prompted me to ask him if he liked to sing. I told him that he looked like a boy who could sing. He brightened and, much to my surprise, began to sing to me. This is what he sang beautifully in his sweet quiet voice:
Baby beluga in the deep blue sea, Swim so wild and you swim so free. Heaven above and the sea below, And a little white whale on the go. Baby beluga, oh, baby beluga, Is the water warm? Is your mama home with you, so happy? Way down yonder where the dolphins play, Where you dive and splash all day. Waves roll in and the waves roll out, See the water squirting out of your spout! Baby beluga, oh, baby beluga, Sing your little song, sing for all your friends, we like to hear you. When it's dark, you're home and fed, Curl up snug in your water bed. Moon is shining and the stars are out. Good night, little whale, good night. Baby beluga, oh, baby beluga, With tomorrow's sun, another day's begun. You'll soon be waking. Baby beluga in the deep blue sea, Swim so wild and you swim so free. Heaven above and the sea below, And a little white whale on the go.