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Mother’s Day
Helvi Oosterman
This Sunday is Mother’s Day, but I feel it ought also be a celebratory day for Grandmothers, and let’s be generous and include the Pops, Diddas, Opas, Grandpas and Grands-peres, Abuelos and Isoisa too.
When grandson Jak was in six or seven, he supplied the following excellent reports of his maternal grandparents. They are of course about us:
Grandma is fun to play with.
Really good to me.
Always loving to me.
Never really angry to me.
Darling grandma.
Mostly always fun.
Always caring to me.
Grandpa is fun to play chess with.
Really nice to me.
Always loving to me.
Never angry at me.
Darling grandpa.
Perfect all the time.
Always caring to me.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you, and have a nice lunch with your extended families as well!
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
More fan mail; Max had his little talk at school last week. It was about grandparents. He wrote amongst other flattering things:
My grandparents are very nice, they have brown hair and blue eyes; they take us to fairs and cook very nice food for us; mainly see food (seafood) like prawn pasta (spelled pron paster)!
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The best are the plastic white chryssies. You just hose them down and spray a bit of ‘jardin’ on it and presto, ‘here you are love’ and then expect a honey-moon.
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What happened to the white Chryssies; they used to be the must-buy-for-mums on Mother’s Day, I have not seen them lately though.
When I had my flower shop in Balmain white ‘mums’ used to fly out of the shop, even the wilted ones browning at the edges were in high demand.
Last minute before the late closing time the blokes from Cricketer’s Arms used come in drunk and buy anything with a bit green on it…
The pub was the last bastion of Balmain crims and rough rugby players; they took their cash from some secret pockets on inside their satiny shorts and I sometimes felt I should have worn protective plastic gloves when handling their money. I learnt diplomacy and was careful not to upset anyone; it was always service with the smile…
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Helvi, my Mom scored three huge white chrysanthemums with the golden centres – live and potted – so you can plant them out after the flowers have finished – and enjoy them again next year if you’re lucky and have a greenish thumb.
Any tips, Voice ?
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I have a fresh pot of purple ones. My old ones in the ground were smothered by weeds. I find they grow quite easily in Sydney. I cut them down almost to ground level after flowering to get rid of diseased/fungal leaves and they recover fine in Spring. Also do a bit of diluted milk spray as a fungicide to keep the leaves looking OK until they flower. Anything that needs much fussing past the first year doesn’t survive in my garden, although I am prepared to do a bit of work for a limited number of herbs/flowers/gardenias/roses.
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I do the same with my Cryssies, Voice. I plant them in the vegie patch and usually have plenty of home-grown cut flowers the next year.
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In Buenos Aires the Thursdays Mothers are still there each Thursday with their placards and photos of their missing sons and husbands.
If heartstring were plucked at, while attending the Anzac Day Parade or the vigil at 5am in Martin Place Sydney, nothing prepared me for the experience of the Mothers at the Plaza De Mayo on that Thursday when we visited.
They stood there with their placards taking shifts with other mothers and wives wanting answers about the sons and husbands, part of the ‘desaparacedos’ during the era of anti-communist reigning President of Leopoldo Galtieiri. He was preceded by Carlos Lacosta, another anti communist.
It is claimed about 30 000 people disappeared during those anti-communist purges by the military Governments of the two Presidents.
The women stand there quietly, holding photos of loved ones, right in front of Casa Rosada the Presidential Palace, year in year out!
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One does one’s best. At least Jak dressed you very well. High heeled shoes and nice handbag. All that’s missing are the earrings.
All Grandpa has is an axe.
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One does one’s best. At least Jak has dressed you right. High heeled shoes, nice handbags. He just missed your earrings.
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The orange helmet is taken out only on the more important occasions, like Father’s Day or Gez’ birthday, and maybe Christmas day.
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..this is a reply to BM…
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I guess the axe must be so much safer than the chainsaw!
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When my mother was alive she used to call me son
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…yes but, she was nice, and she never called you son of a bitch 🙂
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Mine never called me late for breakfast.
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My mum was busy, with farm and all those kids, so we had to make our own breakfast; she was very good and kind, so I’m sure she’s gone heaven; maybe she talking to your and Hung’s mum right now…
They can hear what you are saying, so you all better be nice !
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Are you sure Helvi. I best watch out what I say then.
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..would I lie to you, Alge !
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Mine only ever called me “Michael” when I was in trouble. Sometimes she calls me Bill” – my Dad’s name or “John” – her brother and my Uncle. I like them all. I’m glad that she remembers who I am.
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Helvi, I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Emmjay mine uses to shout “Algernon” when I was in trouble too. I have that problem mixing my daughters names up even now. They pull me up.
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Now she is dead she doesn’t call me anything
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Same with mine.
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Did she cook you omly’s? Mine did
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Where’s Grandfather’s orange helmet?
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Extra strong coffee for you on this Sunday morning darling and in bed with a vegemite toast, including crusts.
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The crusts are the best bit…
Jak seems to think that you are perfect all the time, I smell some male conspiracy here, mate.
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