It's a cold and grey London morning. I have spent it cuddled in the vast expanse of my feather duvet watching "Ladies in Lavender" and all I can think about is my wonderful mother- who was with me the first time I watched the film.
My mind takes me back to those countless afternoons spent with her in Rosebank's Cinema Nouveau. For us, movies were usually watched late on a Tuesday afternoon. Most times we would arrive together, but if not I remember descending the escalator whilst simultaneously searching for that head of immaculately groomed blond hair and warming smile waiting for me in the queue. Choosing a film was eay, we always liked the same ones. We had our little ritual of buying tickets, fruitjuices and salting the popcorn, (a constant point of conflict) something that seemed so ordinary to me then and feels so sacred to me now. Once gastronomic supplies had been gathered we would find our allocated cinema and excitedly await the start of the film. We would sit in that blackened room and while the screen flickered before us, my one hand was given the purpose of shovelling popcorn into my mouth and the other of holding my mother's hand.
I remember watching "Ladies in Lavender" with mama and at the moment when I was most stirred to tears- turning to look beside me to see her beautiful face, light by soft light, wet also by little tears. It was in those quiet, dark hours that i realised more than ever my overwhelming love for her.
The music of "Ladies in Lavender" has returned me to the evenings of not so long ago, where her and I would lie in bed together drinking tea, reading books and listening to classical music (our favourite cd on repeat a hundred times)...... I remember her closing her eyes and allowing her soul to drink in the exquisite sounds. She looked so peaceful, glowing with gratitude.. and maybe a little sadness too- knowing that I was going to leave her. Sometimes she would fall asleep, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose, her sleeping hands having lost her page in her book and I would watch her lovingly for a few minutes before I would wake her up.
My mind takes me back to those countless afternoons spent with her in Rosebank's Cinema Nouveau. For us, movies were usually watched late on a Tuesday afternoon. Most times we would arrive together, but if not I remember descending the escalator whilst simultaneously searching for that head of immaculately groomed blond hair and warming smile waiting for me in the queue. Choosing a film was eay, we always liked the same ones. We had our little ritual of buying tickets, fruitjuices and salting the popcorn, (a constant point of conflict) something that seemed so ordinary to me then and feels so sacred to me now. Once gastronomic supplies had been gathered we would find our allocated cinema and excitedly await the start of the film. We would sit in that blackened room and while the screen flickered before us, my one hand was given the purpose of shovelling popcorn into my mouth and the other of holding my mother's hand.
I remember watching "Ladies in Lavender" with mama and at the moment when I was most stirred to tears- turning to look beside me to see her beautiful face, light by soft light, wet also by little tears. It was in those quiet, dark hours that i realised more than ever my overwhelming love for her.
The music of "Ladies in Lavender" has returned me to the evenings of not so long ago, where her and I would lie in bed together drinking tea, reading books and listening to classical music (our favourite cd on repeat a hundred times)...... I remember her closing her eyes and allowing her soul to drink in the exquisite sounds. She looked so peaceful, glowing with gratitude.. and maybe a little sadness too- knowing that I was going to leave her. Sometimes she would fall asleep, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose, her sleeping hands having lost her page in her book and I would watch her lovingly for a few minutes before I would wake her up.
It is these little snippets of memory that bond me to her now and I am aware more than ever how blessed I am to have such a beautiful and heavenly mother and as I inhale the cold London air, it is her radiance and enduring love which I miss so much right now.
