nothing like a dame

December 6, 2018

A weekday matinee movie is one of my favourite things to do, one I rarely have time for. I think of my Mum when I go to matinees, partly because I remember watching back-to-back matinees in a snow storm together one winter, and partly because she’s a woman who doesn’t apologize for doing things for herself, and by herself. She never has. Even as a child, I remember watching her skinny legs in black sheers walking out the front door for the ballet or the opera. It’s quite something for a child to know she’s at the centre of your universe, while also knowing that there are other planets within that universe. This was very much the way we were raised. And it’s trickled down, the importance of doing things for oneself, and not apologizing for it. The importance of loving your children wholly and richly, while exploring other avenues that make you feel whole and rich. It’s not that I didn’t feel some tension Tuesday when I went to see a film in the middle of the day, knowing that I could’ve, and possibly should’ve been elsewhere. But I’ve come to understand how important these pleasures are for me, and how grateful I am when I have the time for them. “It was four British Dames sharing wells of stories, memories and wisdoms,” I told my children when I picked them up from school afterwards. “What’s a Dame, Mama?”


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