My mother was the one who instructed me on the do's and more specifically the don't's of life. Throughout my youth they dropped effortlessly from her lips with great frequency.
"Gillian," (always a mark of displeasure when she used my whole name rather than the usual 'Gill'), frequently followed by a couple of disapproving tsk tsk's,
"Please," (emphasized to indicate that her severely-challenged patience was near it's breaking point),
"Don't do that!"
Mostly followed by,
"What will the neighbors think?" (managing to ignore completely the fact that in actuality we had no neighbors close enough to see me picking my nose or scratching my thigh or hitching up my skirt to straddle the fence or whatever this particular 'that' was. No human ones anyway, and the sheep, no matter what you may think of them, are not ones to pass judgement. Had I ever pointed out that basic fact, I'm sure she would have replied,
"Some passer-by then," managing to ignore the rarity of that, too.
Of course those same fictitious persons must also be protected from hearing the unacceptable.
'Don't shout, dear," she would say, almost in a whisper, thereby proving her point.
"I'm only three feet away. The neighbors will think we are arguing."
"Do turn that awful noise down, please!" she implored as I turned up the radio volume for my beloved Beatles. "I don't want the neighbors knowing you listen to that dreadful stuff"
My poor mother, life was simply loaded with pitfalls. If she wasn't protecting us from the negative judgment of the non-existent neighbors, she was protecting us from the negative judgment of fate itself.
"Oh, don't walk under there!" she would grab me to steer me around the leaning ladder.
"Stop! Stop!" she would cry out in alarm if a black cat - and there were many loose cats around in those days - threatened to cross our path.
If we saw a lone magpie we would gaze around anxiously for another. Where was it? There must be one! as she murmured,
"One for sorrow, two for joy."
The only judgement which apparently held no fear for my mother was that from above. She never once even suggested that anything she or I might do would incur any negative judgement from The Almighty. The God she offered me was a loving God, not one of wrath. For that I am forever grateful. In my eyes it more than compensates for any petty fears I still hang on to, such as searching relentlessly for that second magpie. I confess that I still do that, if at least a little tongue in cheek. My efforts remain a bit unsettled because I am unsure of the rules. When does the Statute of Limitations expire on that other bird? Is it actually vital to see both birds together? Or is an hour later OK? What if I successfully spot number two later but on the same day? The same week? Someone once asked me, if I could spend five minutes with my mother now, what would I want to ask her. Crazily what immediately leapt to mind was that damn bird. Quick, Mum, tell me rules of the two magpies.
It was inevitable, of course, that my dead mother was hovering around, peering over my shoulder, when I decided I had to come out to the world. Gillian, what will the neighbors think? Indeed!
No, for all her earthly warnings, I have no concern about any Heavenly fears. If by some remote, as it seems to me, chance that she is actually aware of my life as it is today, she will not condemn, she will not fear, she will not scold. If she knows everything, then she understands and accepts everything. She is free of fear. She is done with don't. And so am I!
© May 2017
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