Mother’s Strange Universe

Briefly visited mother’s universe, driving
while Golden Oldies of the Seventies were
playing full blast, the bass notes and rhythm
vibrating right through me, everything just as
Candide described it, the best universe of all
possible universes - brilliant until

I crashed into mother’s universe - all things
she recalls as being wonderful, teaching us
singing, knitting and embroidery, pre-school
brothers joining in - replay as dark negatives
in my own memories: receiving music lessons
at age three, teacher in a plaster cast

My sister and I could not sit still, perplexed on
being taught to regard notes as fairies sitting
on a wall; at age eight when a teacher taught
knitting we completely failed to master the skill
when given material for stitching, I was simply
unwilling to do it, failing the project

I neither recall my mother’s lessons nor derived
any benefit – so confusing – my experience is of
me not having small motor skills – not important
after laughing about my faux pas on the Internet
we share the same a sense of humour at least,
her friend walked in and grilled me

About my remark that life lacked adventure, con-
fronting me with my lack of trust in a God who
promised adventure if we follow Him, I did an
about-turn to escape from her queries into my
private life, not wishing to revitalise my life
mission during a goodwill visit

Apparently my life is on the wrong track, as soon
as I established the right track according to her
superior insight I directed my life thence and
promised to visit while knowing her ideas to
be a pitfall for my heathen views on life, the
universe and everything

Knowing I could not honour the visiting promise
made under duress- oh, mother, you live in a
a strange universe…