Close of hot June day— soft sea breeze, high crescent moon, cool waves kiss the shore.
We’ve enjoyed a bit of a heat wave this past week, an unusually early occurrence here in the easternmost province of Canada.
I call it a bonus because our summers are notoriously short, and after a long winter and spring, warm sun-filled days are more than welcome. I’m also grateful for the coastal breezes that keep things temperate.
In the midst of the pandemic as well as my deep despair over everything that is going on in the world right now, comes a welcome respite of joy and gratitude.
My only sister and her husband became grandparents last night, to a perfect little girl who was longed for and whose mom went nine days overdue before finally going into labour late yesterday morning. I am brimming with happiness for them all.
Due to Covid-19 restrictions, my nephew was only permitted to stay in the hospital during labour and delivery, so like my sister and her husband and her other grandparents, he now has to wait until mother and baby are discharged to be with them.
A side note: when this same nephew was a baby and my firstborn was a young girl, she absolutely adored him. How do I know? Back then, she had a locket. She kept a pic of him in that locket along with a pic of herself. I smile whenever I think of it.
I can’t help but recall how thrilled I was when I became a grandmother fourteen years ago, to a dear little bundle who felt like a gift from heaven for all of us. And now my memories take me back to the day my own daughter was born.
I became a mom when I was barely a woman myself. So young I was, a child having a child. It didn’t take long, though, for me to make my baby a priority and to fall in love in a way I never had before.
Eight years ago, I wrote a short poem about it.
Remembering that day in June
when you were small and pink and new
your needs so urgent, your helplessness
eclipsing all I’d planned to do
Your eyes, the bluest I’ve ever seen
gazed into mine, I drank you in
strawberry mark on your behind
that perfect dimple in your chin
The tiny o your lips would make
when, nursing done, you fell asleep
that newborn smell, the lightest heft—
who knew that love could feel so deep?
Flashback to eight years ago this week: Beautiful Rome, the first destination of our 3-week trip to Italy and France. We hope to return to Europe within the next few years–the UK this time–and I can hardly wait.
A little verse I wrote in Rome:
The click on terracotta tile a welcoming staccato beat quick-sure heels on cobblestone we join the rhythm on the street.
Mellifluous foreign banter fill sidewalk cafes and bars laughter tinkling, glasses clinking under the Italian stars.
Heady scent of sweet ambrosia lips stained red with deep dark wine swarthy locals’ smiling faces lovers with their arms entwined.
Tastes and smells are all around us food and drink beyond compare warm night air drapes on our shoulders sated, sleepy, not a care.
Street musicians serenade us as we stroll our way back home memories to last a lifetime summer nights in downtown Rome.
What has been your best-loved destination?
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, But Nature more.
~ excerpt from Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
by Lord Byron