Mother's Day is this Sunday and now that I have tween and teenage children x 3, not pre-schoolers, I spend more time thinking about my cool Mum and the matriarchs in my family, instead of breakfast-in-bed, spa treatments and how much me-time I'm owed.
In light of that and my recent references of how I am turning into my Nana, this post is a tribute to her. In the photo above, Nana is centre front, between my Great Grandmother and my Mum. I'm the kid in the long dress. The pretty women side on behind them is my 95 year old Gran - she's our matriarchal legend and another story.
My Nana
My Nana wore a flapper style wedding dress
and carried an enormous bouquet when she got married. She loved parties and
people, tennis and matching hats. Perfect for a vicars wife.
My Nana read interesting snippets out of the
paper and took up dressmaking. She scrimped on material so there was always a
patch over a seam in a poignant place like centre front.
My Nana was widowed young so she took up
traveling. She collected crystal hand bells and souvenir match boxes from the
cities she visited around the world. She’d appear like an over adorned
Christmas tree at the end of each trip, beaming as she sauntered off the plane.
My Nana wore orangey-red lipstick and grew a
bristly kiss. She bought a white Mini Clubman and rode the clutch like a fury
to morning teas around the village. On the days the tar melted, she’d collect
us for a swim in her toweling housecoat; you could hear her roar streets away.
My Nana loved a good suntan. Her lower legs
came to look like her crocodile handbag. ‘Just doing the fronts today dear,’
she’d smile from her sun lounger, while wasps nibbled at plums on the grass
beside her in the Hawkes Bay heat.
My Nana had terrible bunions; it was
surprising her feet could get into those rows of going-out shoes. Her bedroom
was a treasure trove of handbags and water colours and clip-on earrings. Her
glass topped dresser held a black and white museum of memories.
My Nana kept her hair dye in the bathroom
cupboard. She used, ‘Cha Cha Gray’ and mostly left it in too long so her hair
turned a flattering mauve.
My Nana tried to discourage my love of
ponies. She said girls that rode horses ended up looking like them. She had a
friend who looked like her poodle. I could see her point. She also told me I
was kind and could be a nurse when I grew up.
My Nana liked sherry. When I got my licence
I’d drive up from Onga Onga to visit, she’d pour me a couple in her blood red
crystal glasses, as we chatted in the drawing room. I’d be shickered by the
time I left.
My Nana was never a great cook. But when she
started making toad in the hole from sausages peeled off the bottom of her
fridge, she went into a home. She complained Mr Witherton-Jones had terrible
manners when he slurped his soup beside her, and she wasn’t staying long.
My Nana used to hold parties in her room and
invite her favourite nurses. She always had a cask of Blenheimer under her
sink. ‘It’s so refreshing,’ she’d say.
My Nana sometimes went missing. But she
always wore a hat!
Happy Mothers Day!
