Sunday, September 09, 2007

The Magic

The best part of my celebrating my Mom's "big" birthday a few weeks ago wasn't the sangria or the margaritas or the guacamole.

It wasn't the flamingo decorations or my Aunt's necklace of funny pink birds.

It wasn't the personal chef and her two assistants cooking and serving us a delicious, beautiful and exotic meal.

It wasn't seeing my Mom's face when she arrived at her party and saw the photos of herself from long ago, the photos that made the hairs on my arms stand straight up when I saw them because there, there in those pictures that I'd asked my Dad to pick out for the special day, was my Mom, closer to my age now. There, there was my Mom sitting on the kitchen counter with her hair wrapped up in a towel, wearing her fancy bathrobe, shaving her legs in the sink as I stood on a chair (freshly bathed myself) looking eerily like my very own daughter. There, there in those pictures of thirty years ago, was my Mom - beautiful, pregnant with my brother, proudly holding one of the many fish that she caught while I stood next to her, looking up at her, a curious grin on my 3-year-old face. There, there in those pictures was my Mom, just her. A close-up of her looking quite serious. The look of a mother. A look I've seen on her face my entire life and which now surprises me when I see it on myself in the mirror or in the faces of my children when they've noticed it too.

The best part of celebrating my Mom's birthday wasn't the fact that she didn't have to lift a finger (although I got a few shots of her snooping on what was going on in her kitchen, she just could not help herself), or the fact that before she left I was told that I should have a drink in my hand and be relaxed when she got back because that, that would make her very happy.

The best part of my Mom's birthday was the rain. The rain that came after our soup course, before the grand finale of our epicurean adventure in honor of her birthday.

Because without the rain, we wouldn't have had the dance.

The dance that started with my Mom and Aunt as the tent was set up to shelter our tables for the rest of our glorious feast.

Within minutes, they were joined by my other Aunt and my Grandma.

I couldn't hold back.

Someone shouted "A girl's dance!" and my cousin, myself and my daughter joined our mothers, our aunts and our grandmother in a circle, holding hands and jiving each in our own little way. I think it was something by "The Beach Boys", but the song is of little importance, the people, however, are not. The people are the magic.

Like the women in "Practical Magic", dancing around the kitchen drinking margaritas and singing "you put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up", we drank in each other's happiness. Happiness that here we were, together. Women. The same blood coursing through all of us. Women. Family. Women dancing with each other, holding hands and grateful just to be. Grateful to have this moment, this gift, this life to share.

The men probably don't get it. Maybe they do, a little. Maybe they just liked to watch us be silly. Maybe they wanted to join in. Maybe they should have.

But without the rain it would never have been.

And I know that all seven of us will never forget, not even the youngest.

She will not forget, because I will tell her about it every year.

"Remember the time we danced at Grammie's birthday party?" I will say to her.

"Remember . . . it was you and I and Aunt Jenny and Grammie and Aunt Joan and Aunt Carolyn and Grandma Carol and we held hands and danced, all of us."

And she will say, "Yes, mommy, I remember."

And we will. We will remember the rain, and the dance, and the magic that we felt there with each other.

For that gift, for all of us, I thank you Mom.

And I thank you Grandma, for bringing her to me, so that I could bring someone to both of you, and we could all dance in the rain together.

14 comments:

Kyla said...

Oh! That last line got me. What a magical moment.

mom said...

Carrie, you are exactly right. The entire day was lovely but "the dance" was the best. I loved that MY mom could dance with us. Thank you.

I still remember Brett's little cousin Riley, at 6, dancing at your wedding!

Hmmm... isn't there an anniversary coming up soon?

I love you.

Mrs. Chicken said...

This was very moving to me. I've felt distant from my mother since my dad passed away, and we encountered some bumpy road on the way back from hard grief.

Thank you for reminding me of what was, and of why I should work harder to revive those feelings between us.

Cynthia said...

Thank you for sharing your dance with us! My mother was one to dance just because she could and I miss those magical times.

Mel said...

Oh, wow, Carrie, I love this. I love, love, love this.
It sounds magical, ceremonial, sacramental.
Great post. And what a great memory to have.

Becky said...

this post was so awesome carrie. so sincere and heartfelt. makes me miss my mom.

Anonymous said...

Carrie--

Your description of that day was really magical--just like the day you arranged. Need more dancing, and you mom and I like to sing "Sisters." Thanks for being you. Love, Aunt Joan

painted maypole said...

tears in my eyes... fantastic!

Oh, The Joys said...

It sounds like it was great. You are a good daughter!

jen said...

oh sister...wow. just, wow.

Tabba said...

Oh my goodness.

I need a whole box of kleenex.

This was so beautiful and moving and perfect.

I am so, so happy for all of you :)!

Mrs Pushy said...

Just a beautiful post. Thank you.

I wanted to let you know that I started blogging again, but at a new address. Just click on my name above and come visit me sometime. Hope to see you there!

your cousin/aunt jenny said...

Carrie -

It was a beautiful day and I agree... that was the most magical moment of them all. Thank you for capturing it so perfectly, and for ensuring that Katie will always know the amazing line of women that came before her... and before us. I love you.

Anonymous said...

Okay, I will always love you, but no fair making me cry at work. :) It was truly a perfect day!

Aunt C xoxo