I am proudly not a mother although I am glad my mother was one. Otherwise I would not be here. Many of you reading this blog would be grateful but it is too late now – almost seventy-four years too late.
It has been, as usual, a strange day. I finished and emailed my post for the day then threw on some clothes to go downstairs and check in with Triple C. He was not there, he has the day off. What is this? So I sent him an email and it bounced back. i learned that he is actually taking two days off, what is this? I must send him a hissy email and tell him that he MUST tell me when he is going to be gone…ahead of time. I hate these surprises. My hissy emails work. Once a hissy email was sent to a sent a certain man that said NEVER leave the restaurant without saying goodbye to me. He never did after that. Oops, come to think of it he did. The last time ever I saw his face. I am actually not a demanding person most of the time but I am aware that there might be a difference of opinion out there.
Then I got an email from BFF Beth, providing me with her telephone number. Now that was very strange because we have not been communicating for months and months and she is the friend who informed me that I was fourteen when I told she and another friend that I would never have children. This is, of course, Mother’s Day. I called her, she was not home, she is probably being feted. Well, I hope she is anyway. I left a message, we shall see. We will certainly have a giggle when we do talk. When teenagers we used to call one another every day and discuss what we were going to wear that day. We could start that again because I think I have free Canadian calling on my iPhone. How funny that would be.
I did do one devilish thing. An email to one of “my Jamaican men” wishing him: “Happy Mother’s Day, mother f***er.” It was so much fun and I could just see him laughing if, and when, he opens the email. I do remember Mother’s Day is celebrated on a different day in the UK.
Why I remember that is beyond me but I also remember the second and third verses of Christmas carols. Memory is a strange thing.
The prior paragraphs were written on Mother’s Day, the writing from this point onward is done on the morning after Mother’s Day and hence could be called: Reflections on Mother’s Day 2017.
The original intent was to eschew the whole idea and concept of Mother’s Day but that did not happen, as a matter of fact, the opposite occurred. I had the best Mother’s Day Ever.
It all began because Triple C’s flowers were looking a bit bedraggled so the employment of my flower arranging skills was essential. So I went down to LL (Lower Lobby) to ask Bonnie if I could borrow her scissors again. She said: “Of course!” then when she as handed them over she also gave me a rose. The hotel were providing these to all mothers.
Me: I cannot accept this, I am not a mother. It would be fraudulent.
Bonnie: But Ms. McBride, you are a mother. You are the mother of all of us.
Me: But isn’t there over 300 staff members here at the hotel?
Bonnie: Yes, but you can do it!
Me: Its a big responsibility for a first time mother but I guess I will give it a try.
I do admit that I was a natural. I decided to give my “children” a Mother’s Day hug, so I began in the LL and then went to UL (Upper Lobby) to chase down more of the kids. There was an enormous brunch with music in the Champagne Bar and then service in Mott 32. I gamely hugged tens, but not hundreds. I was slightly discriminatory – I like most of the staff, there are a few that I am not too fond of. I am not a phony, I did not hug them. It was occasionally a moving experience. One woman thanked me effusively saying that her mother was in Japan, she missed her so much on this day and that I could be her mother that day. I am, of course, old enough for that role.
But I could not help but noticing that the brunch buffet was impressive, rising even to dazzling. There was a sushi bar, little sandwiches, fruit, tarts, wraps, desserts and even a chocolate fondue tower. Avi, the boss, said that he could seat me at the last sitting at 4:30. How could I say no? I didn’t and decided to make it even more fun by getting dressed up.
Then I did three flower arrangements using Triple C’s flowers and the rose. I am attaching photographs to prove credibility. All the while I was snacking from food in the minibar provided by yours truly.
I listened to two podcasts from CBC Radio, a new download initiated after my return to this my native land. The subject matter was Israel and another was an interview of a Newfoundland author Mary Walsh. I was listening to Mary in the lobby and howled in laughter. She said: “Everyone says I am brave, but I am not. I am just stupid.” That is so me. I was laughing so loud and hard I missed most of the pod cast. This interview centered upon Mary’s debut novel. She said:”Too bad I didn’t get around to it until I was 64.” (I am not published as yet and I am almost 74.) I am going to listen to the pod cast again and buy the book.
But then it was time for the buffet. I went down to LL for help with my pearls, the clasp is difficult and I do not have a man about the house (or room). I had a discussion with Nichole, the concierge beforehand. Nichole said that she never was brave enough to go to a buffet and take home a doggy bag.
Nichole: How could you get the food to your room?
Me: I could hire a camel
Nichole: How do you come up with these things?
Me: I have no idea.
The food was every much as good as it looked. Never has such good food entered my stomach. There was live music, such a talented man. I did not write down his name but he will be back on May 25. There was a wedding in another part of the hotel and photography was going on outside the door. The bride’s dress was beautiful. I asked her where she got it. She said: “India” A bit far to go clothes shopping if Number 4 comes along. I took a picture of the couple with their permission.
I walked back into the Champagne Bar to hear this incredibly poignant song, “This Town”. I lost it, there is such sadness in my life as well. But people were so sweet and I dried my tears and got on with things. They supplied a basket filled with bread and cheeses to take home and I was encouraged to take freely from the buffet. So a camel was not necessary and my minibar refrigerator is stocked full of goodies.
Later it was off to Mott for a glass of wine and C.’s crooning. He still wants to be adopted and took the liberty of calling me Mom. “Don’t call me Mom, call me Mother.” “Yes, Mother!” What a way to end Mother’s Day 2017.
