To be honest, the weather we are having lately is not normal. Last year, on Mother’s Day, it was cold and wet and the sky was grey. This will prove to be a false spring and I am so annoyed with Mother Nature for fooling the birds and animals like this. A pair of collared doves have nested in the ivy over the gate trellis and are hoping to bring off a pair of little chicks, as they did last year. I’m being run ragged, running out every time I see a crow, rook, or magpie sitting on the gate, under the nest. Those eggs are going to hatch into cute little doves, just as they did last year. They are not going to lose them, not on my watch. The picture above, by the way, was taken by my daughter and is of Ollie having himself a lazy sunday in the sun.
So, it was Mother’s Day. I’ve always been glad that I have the kind of husband who has never insisted we spend Mother’s Day with his mother, nor me with mine. Why do we have Mother’s Day in march? The Christian reason is that is 9 months to Christmas day. So, you do the maths. I read, or heard, somewhere that it is because it is Ostara, the Pagan festival of fecundity, spring, and all things bursting to be born. It is in honour of the Mother Goddess, who will give birth to her son-consort at Yule (december 21). That’s the version I go with, being a Pagan myself. It’s an odd sort of festival for someone well past the menopause, I always think. Yule is more my speed, with the image of the Crone. In the meantime, it’s a nice day to put one’s feet up and be spoiled rotten by the family.