MY MOM FED me “the Cranberries syndrome”. As a little girl, I remember late-night insomnia, my father fast asleep, Noor a baby girl – barely over six years old – and the relaxed sound of my mother’s humming, painting in the dark with some Cranberry song in the background.
“Ferry,” she’d scold in her drawling, sweet tone, “why are you out of bed? It’s a school night!”
Yet, her displeasure would soon falter, allowing me in a minute to share her late-night creative incursions. As I sat at the couch opposite her easel, sipping hot, sweetened milk from a music-playing mug – my favorite mug – I’d think I’m the luckiest daughter in the world. And indeed I was lucky, for I was the daughter of the unique Dina Maghawry. Continue reading