Friday, 22 August, my mum's 75th birthday.
She was born in the town of Plati in Calabria, Southern Italy, in 1933.
I hopped over to her house that night for a mum-son birthday celebration, the present?? A Steve Kilbey art print!!! 'Peacock' (thanks for the prompt delivery eekie!!)
I brought over a miniature pavlova for us to share; pavlova being a cake originating from Australia made from egg-white. On top is cream and fruit. I'm not really into cakey and neither is my mum, for health reasons. We both shared a couple of bitefuls and disposed of the remainder in the garden where hopefully it will compost naturally, but then surely the possums will have come late in the night to feast on this sweet delicacy.
One birthday candle = 75. I sang my mum a happy birthday and she blew out the candle. In making a wish she appeared pensive, my mum has always been that way inclined, somewhat god-fearing, a bit afraid of the future.
We pondered the age of 75, and what's to come. 'Oh my God' was mum's reaction to the words '75 years', in her sweet, cutely-clipped Calabrese accent, 'where have the years gone'. Tears welled up in mum's eyes as she quietly muttered the words 'como volar dio', which of course means "it's in the hands of God".
All of this Life is in the hands of ..., mum, that's why all of us, whether we're 7, 27, 57 or 75, must remain thankful to be alive and to have life, and in the time we have, to share it with love, dignity and grace with those we love and care for.
I wish you many more happy, healthy moons mum,
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