I recall being very proud of my (double Aquarius) mother, standing up for individuals who were persecuted for being unusual or non-standard in some way; artists in particular.
She was the only one doing it and it took balls.
You?
I was born in 1963. I remember being very young, kindergarten or elementary school, wearing stainless steel POW bracelets during the Vietnam era. Mom was very upset that most of those sent or drafted were from the poorest families in the poorest areas of the U.S.
Mom did not listen to rock and roll, so I'm sure she was not familiar with the song "Fortunate Son". She sure as heck felt the same though.
My mother loved to have her nails done, and to eat at good restaurants. She was very friendly, so many of her dear friends were the people she met who were manicurists and waitresses. Mom loved joining groups and was very active in all the rituals. I have no idea of her birthtime, but I imagine she had an 11th house emphasis.
My mom was very dutiful. Her mother and great aunt, sisters, lived separately in different mobile home parks. Mom worked full time during the week, but she would spend her weekends visiting her mother and great aunt, when they were both quite elderly. After they eventually passed away, mom devoted the same energy to her beloved groups, clubs and organizations that she belonged to.
It was a sunny late Spring morning when I was about three. Arthur Godfrey and Carmel Quinn were crooning on the radio. My mom was creating something fragrant with garlic, basil, and tomatoes in the kitchen, which overlooked a porch lined with tall bushes along one side.
She was a city gal living in a tiny country cottage with my dad and me. She loved birds, and had been delighted to discover that one of those porch bushes held a nest with recently hatched baby birds.
My mom suddenly stopped cooking. She grabbed a broom, and slammed through the squeaky screen door onto the porch, yelling. She started beating at the base of the bush with the baby birds. When a big black snake slithered off the weathered grey porch and through the sun dappled grass she chased it, still yelling and beating at it with the broom until it vanished into the wooded undergrowth.
My mom the hero!
@warped
What a great depiction!. I really felt your mom’s vibe whilst reading. The bird loving, and her protective instinct with the broom reminded me of my Grandmother 🙂.