Epiphany

Epiphany was always my mother's birthday above all else. Some know it as Twelfth Night or the twelfth day of Christmas. I know it as the extraordinary day that my mother was born.

Agnes Grinstead was born at home in the family home in Gautier, Ms. She weighed approximately two pounds and was instantly wrapped in a whiskey soaked rag and placed in a large wicker chair in front of a pecan wood fire. (The huge old house was surrounded by a field of pecan bearing trees. It's porch looked out on the Mississippi Sound,) She lived to tell about this tenuous beginning, and credited the family's live in maid, Mammy, for a life well-lived and loved.

Mama knew struggles and heartbreaks, as well those moments when she was moved to cry out: "Bliss and Rapture..."  Her struggles were mostly to do with her having married the artist genius, Walter Anderson...my father. Her "Bliss and Rapture" was inspired by sunsets and by bathing in the sound: by moonflowers opening and a flock of white pelicans flying over; by oyster soup and my homemade bread with butter: by Bach's Brandenburg Concertos and the dancing of her daughter, Leif. She loved her children, her nieces and nephews, grandchildren, and various cats and dogs. She loved all her family, not to mention old friends from her college days at Radcliffe...with whom she stayed in touch. She even loved Walter.

Mama told endless stories when I was growing up: fiction and otherwise. And Mama was a writer. Agnes Grinstead Anderson kept journals for most of her life, wrote memoir and poetry. (We exchanged poems during my sojourn in New York.) In her later years, she was encouraged by my best friend (Guess who?), Kendall, to buy a typewriter and seriously undertake her memoirs. By that time Mama had sight in only one eye...and constant distractions. Her family and the legacy of her deceased husband kept her on call. Yet she persevered with her memoirs and APPROACHING THE MAGIC HOUR was published in 1889 by University Press of Mississippi. My mother was as though reborn, having her long hair cut into a bob, a la her college days, shining her pride and glory during book signings as though she was meant for it.

So back to Epiphany and Mama's birthday...celebrated every year that I can recall by burning the Christmas greens in the fireplace and eating a densely delicious almond cake with a lucky nutmeg baked inside. The whole family would be present to celebrate Mama's birth, to lavish attention and love on a lady who was, herself, an amazing gift to all who knew her. No party last night... (Mama died in 1991.) And no burning of Christmas greens... But for Music and me, on East Beach, the sky was ablaze with beauty. Bliss and Rapture!