April 28th, 2003 - 4:18 p.m.

A pleasant memory, of the rarefied sort due to mismatch and unexpected birth.

There once was a sunny day, destined for perfection.

Two or three years old, the frustration of non-communication and lack of understanding long faded into childish measures or right and wrong. When mother and father were still synonyms with god.

Light streaming through the windows, lending strips of warmth to the native coolness of white and brown marble stripes.

Warming round cheeks in a method that resembles the half awake feeling of having a lover kiss the cheek.

An unexpected bouquet of yellow carnations bring a grand smile to the mother's face, and pink carnation, starred with baby's breath; cloaked with noisemaker cellophane and cascading tendrils of plastic curls.

A yellow dress, lace collar and multicoloured spots, the blue ones forming an array of equilateral triangles. Japanese lace socks, white, and a mellow ribbon on each outside ankle. Patent black shoes: always such a bother with their miniature buckles fastened with still-inept baby-fat fingers.

The mother's curiosity at the child receiving flowers as well. A tender kiss on cheek and a sweet oracle: Because one day, she will be a mother as great as you.

N.

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