One Mother of a Midnight Writer

We’re cut from the same cloth and both “true blues” when it comes to certain ideas, beliefs, notions, and venues with exceptional menus. Not to mention people, places, faces, and extreme escapists. (Phonetically it sounded good from over here anyways, or that way, on-line, everywhere and always) A warm breeze outside this Mother’s Day and a song in my heart makes for sunny and golden memories.

What’s the origin of the phrase ‘True blue’? ‘True blue’ is supposed to derive from the blue cloth that was made at Coventry, England in the late Middle Ages. The town’s dyers had a reputation for producing material that didn’t fade with washing, that is, it remained ‘fast’ or ‘true’. The phrase ‘as true as Coventry blue’ originated then and is still used (in Coventry at least). (Props as we say here, formal bows or salute as imagined there to phrases.org.uk, and my beloved mom’s God given sewing, all things fabric, and remarkable artistic abilities.)

Ironic, since these true blues (that I’m referencing and prefacing, story-wise) have DNA straight across the pond, over the grassy green hills, through the royal blue ether and the historical, clear/crisp atmosphere, to the drawbridges of England. But have never been (Yet! Said with vigor). My mum would say, for some reason or other, our invite was lost in the mail. Year’s still young and goals are ingenious to have, something along those lines. In fact, the entire reason for this ghostwriter’s story; metaphorically, biologically, symbolically, and above all, miraculously, magically, and magnificently.

The term true blues came on the scene in 1636, however, the blues I’m referring to are in reference to me mum and I (I can hear her sigh over my improper grammar usage). Other awesome words I can use, or use to “irritate” her, from that era (I’m sure “things” were “super” “great” then too and should be extra grateful we hail from this tail in time) include, but not limited to angle of refraction, Christian era, confirmatory, corvette, crabstick, fluency, Geneva bands, harebell, homogenous, irritant, merge, monotony, pharmaceutical, pixie, precatory, reglet, reprimand, sedan, self-indulgence, shorthand, supervene, Thessalonians, town meeting, treasury of merits, true-blue, trustee unbeknownst, and wampum. (Shout-out to Merriam-Webster and a deep-rooted love for linguistics, like delectable morsels of chocolate candies, oh and little red corvettes) I digress, as usual, and am back to the sweet message intended …

Wampum is fun to say! Wampum is ancient for moola; or beads of polished shells strung in strands, belts, or sashes and used by North American Indians as money, ceremonial pledges, and ornaments. We could stick around here all day and dissect the words and their definitions while sipping mimosas, but I know you have a busy day planned. That’s for another day of writing while brunching on a glorious Sunday.

Many blue and blood moons ago, I expressed to my mother, I wanted to write a book. Her response was a journey of 1000 miles, starts with one step. As I’m about to reach 200,000 words, thanks to her, I can’t help but have her bright, brilliant, smile, and image in my mind’s eye. Mum encouraged me to write and in doing so have created a “plethora” of “characters”, places, and exquisite memories from all over this wonderous world and the seven seas to sail.

This ghostwriter’s mum was everything, my world! I speak of her in past tense, only because it’s evil that’s kept us apart. She taught me all I’ve ever known; from the too enormous to comprehend Universe, through every galaxy I could admirably absorb, past histories unfathomable mysteries, over stars and their clusters, the vastness of the mind, microscopic idiosyncrasies, and all things beauty in magnitudes greater than time, the ocean, and life itself.

My mother was a masterful teacher, principal, artist, seamstress, grand and great grandmother, only daughter, adored granddaughter, niece, boss, wife, cousin, friend, plant mom, and with all sincerity in her heart a pup mom, and “mumsy” (facetious nickname of endearment, she’d say or mutter a sneer named “flippant”) to all fur babies (birds too).

As I embark on my next quest of 100,000 words, I carry her in my heart as she will always be with me. Mom introduced me to God, music, art, cars, fashion, flowers, politics, psychology, law, real estate, animal and human rights, equality, cinema, travel, junk food, time, and the rest is history, oh and that too. There’s a million more! She was my best friend, mentor, muse, and all things mom-ly. I miss her more than words. More than the bazillion written, intended, and God willingly what’s to come.

I pray somewhere out there, underneath the pale moon’s twilight, she’s thinking of me and knowing how much I love her tonight. Love forever and always! You are the wind beneath my wings, and still learning to fly.

This midnight ghostwriter wishes you and yours a Happy Mother’s Day! Would love to “hear” about your moms and the day itself. A bounty of blessings to all! Thanks for stopping by and it doesn’t end here. This “Maserati” is about to hit the fast lane on the next quest out of the dusty city.