A group of women gathered in Jean's living room today to talk, eat scones, and laugh. We didn't want it to be a 'goodbye', but what else could it possibly be? Tomorrow is my last day in St Ives, and then the machinery will begin to roll along, taking me somewhere else.
Somehow the subject of weaving came up, and I was thrilled to hear all about how Jean had been a weaver in Manchester for many decades. Weaving is no joke, and you have to be on your toes to keep all your fingers. Jean's sister lost 3 of her fingers on one of the machines but the company said it was her own fault. Great Scott! In the end, the doctors attached her little finger in the place of her pointing finger. I am not making this up.
Today's scones were kindly baked by Pennie and served the Devon way - jam first, clotted cream on top. Jean's daughters made the tea, served the scones, and stood by while the rest of us cheerfully consumed them. Watching the girls watching their mother reminded me that not so very long ago, my own sisters and brother and I stood by our mother to make sure she had everything she needed. It was a privilege; I saw today that they also felt that privilege.
Thinking of this, I pulled out a photo.
"This is my mother," I said, showing it with daughterly pride.
"Oh my goodness!" someone said. "How old is she?"
"Well, she was 99 years old when this was taken... just two months before she died."
"What?!" said all, in a variety of decibels. My pride inched up a little more. I had shared with them before about her raising 11 children and hoisting bales in the summer heat while I drove the 4-wheeler in comfort. She went through the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, World War II, then survived the Sixties with a passel of teenagers. Now that right there is a miracle!
12/09/23
The ladies were so complimentary about my mother and I that I just about busted a button. It's fun to have other people noticing your 99 year old mother.
Presently, we gathered our belongings (mine were the usual 5 layers and several things hanging off my backpack) and began walking toward the door.
"Goodbye, goodbye, we love you Jean!" Pennie and I called out, accompanied by the excited barking of two little dogs who absolutely MUST have the last word.
I think I'm going to miss those guys. They notice me.
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