Mums the word

Another thing that struck me about Jennifer Johnson’s book, which takes place in recent times, is how much the lives of women in Ireland have changed in a short period. Nora Webster took place in the late 60s. Then, women second guessed their every move--what they wore, where they went, whom they were seen with, how they parented--anticipating that their every move was being watched and judged by their neighbours. By contrast, Clara travels around the world, has many lovers, has no interest in marrying, has no cares about what people think of her. She is Nora’s opposite pole.

Both books focus on the women’s relationship with their mums. One of the saving graces of Nora Webster is her ability to reconcile herself to her mother--albeit after her mother is long gone--by developing an empathy for her mum that seemingly comes only with age.

I had lunch today and went to the lunchtime Ulster Orchestra concert with Ann O’Dwyer, whose mum was a close friend of my mum in the 70s. And now Ann and I are buddies. It’s very strange to feel like you are reliving your mother’s life as you look across the table at your friend and realise your mother did the same thing 40 years ago, finding joy in friendship with someone with shared interests. I mentioned to Ann how one of the joys of growing older is how your relationship with your mum changes. She agreed. I feel much closer to my mom than I did in earlier decades. Poor Nora’s mum died before they had a chance for their relationship to mature.

As I took the bus home, I was very much aware of the luxury of my life--lunchtime concerts by the amazing Ulster Orchestra, the friendship of someone as bright and vivacious as Ann, the enjoyment of literature, public transportation! I really am spoilt. Before and after my trip downtown, I worked on quarterly fund performance commentaries, so it isn’t all unicorns and rainbows. But I’ll take it.
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