Daughter Mother On Mom Singing Lullaby To her Daughter

Sipping the last drop of my Starbucks coffee, figuring sentences for the prologue of my new book my thoughts rail back to those times when we both roasted coffee beans together, how she held my tiny fingers to teach me shell peas out of the green pods, helped me use my thumbs to crack eggs without spilling them on the floor, and made castles in hot beach sand during the evening plays. The aroma in her kitchen, the smell of that stained apron, and the sound of whipping cream is still fresh in my memories. With utmost happiness I cherish those times when we siblings bargained over the last piece of her caramel pudding.“ Belle Ame ” as it says in French, remains true about ‘Maa’ which means “A beautiful soul !!” Long back, once upon a time, this young woman rented me a small spacious cushion called her womb where I had a nine-month journey, listening to her lullaby. Through thick and thin, I still hear that sweet voice humming for me. Now, as I finish with the prologue of my Irish book, “Nineart go cur le cheile”, I realize the inspiration of that one beautiful soul, over the chapters of my life. Without “Maa” I would have not have conquered the stairs of alchemy.