Long ago, when my mother once remarked, "You look blowsy" I thought she meant 'vibrant, bright-colored, gyspy-like.'

 I distinctly remember the event:  I was in my late teens and finally daring to wear on a date the Forties-inspired, brightly printed bandeau halter with long, flowing skirt I'd secretly tried on in my room close to two dozen times.

After each donning of the outfit, I'd crack open my bedroom door, make sure no one was around, then throw open the door to inspect myself in the mirror across the hall. 

 Once I grew used to the sight of three or four inches of skin showing at my waist (gasp), with more cleavage revealed than ever before, I thought I looked daring and wonderful.

Grown up. 

Avant- garde.

(This was the late Seventies.) 

 Beautiful. 

I have carried this illusion all of these years, this illusion that my mother's amused-yet-annoyed smile that evening was of pleasure with a tinge of jealousy for her bold and vibrant daughter going out for the evening in gypsy-like attire. 

Until today. 

Today -- when I looked out the kitchen window and felt the discrepency between today's garden and yesterday's post filled with photos of an earlier, burgeoning Spring. Those photos were demure and innocent. Today's garden is vibrant and brilliantly-hued.

I thought happily to myself, "Such a blowsy garden..." 

I hadn't thought of that word in years. 

I tossed it around in my mind for awhile while gazing at the various irises and poppies.

Hmmm.

 I soon was looking up the meaning of the word 'blowsy.' The dictionaries checked stated: 

blows'y, (blou-zee), adj:

  *  characteristic of or benefitting a slut or slattern; used especially of women. 

*  (esp. of a woman) untidy in appearance, slovenly or sluttish

*  (of a woman) ruddy in complexion; red-faced 

 Well. 

 That certainly puts a different spin on the word 'blowsy'...

 Mom's careless phrase was the only remark made about my outfit that evening by anyone, that I recall. If my date loved my look, he preferred to show appreciation by fondling, and anyway, who cares what he thought?  I barely remember him, although I'm sure he seemed important at the time.

I do wonder if Mom realized I had no idea what she meant as I walked away from her words with a smile.  I am sure she knew what blowsy meant, piecing together now the times I heard her use the word...and about whom.  

I say that somewhat matter-of-factly now as, even with surprises like this, I accepted she could be impulsive and thoughtless a long time ago. My mother managed to blurt off-hand, searing remarks to most of her friends and all of her family, at one time or another.

Thank goodness she also had her charms.

 I do try not to repeat her verbal patterns.

Sometimes I fail. 

I've decided to keep close what I first thought my mom meant when she spoke those words over me -- it's the same as how I felt when my younger self assessed the reflection in the mirror so long ago:  

I was beautiful that evening, vibrant and bold.

...and so is my blowsy garden.