May 7, 2007
Now that my mom is gone I realize that for many years I took her for granted. I would call and talk to her about what was going on and the latest about the kids. Now I think more about all the things she did for me.
I remember really hot summers when Mom planned picnics at Coney Island, a swimming pool in Cincinnati. She’d think of everything, bringing enough food and drinks for everybody who could come. I’d drive with my kids from Lexington to Cincinnati, so excited to see Mom, wondering who else would be able to come. We’d have great fun, talking and watching all of her grandkids playing in the swimming pool. There would always be plenty of food and drinks for everybody. For my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, Mom planned a whole week of celebrations in Cincinnati, Louisville, and Cumberland Falls, a state park. Mom cooked food, brought extra pillows and packed enough for a week. We came and stayed, as long as we could. Again my sisters, brothers and I would sit with Mom, talking, laughing while the grandkids swam, and ran around together. She made it all seem so easy.
Through the years Mom made occasions. As a child, I remember really looking forward to special events. Often on Saturdays we’d have lots of housework and folding. We didn’t just fold clothes. Mom would call it a “folding jamboree.” Mom thought our grammar was terrible so she formed a “you and I” club where you had to use good grammar to be in it. She made it seem important, especially when the club had special desserts or dinners out. She instituted “nickel words” to get us to choose better words when we spoke. She would take us to the library on Saturdays. It was like going on a special trip. Not only would we each get to choose a treat, but Mom would bring home a clothes basket full of books.
Mom loved the library just like she loved the theater. We went to plays from the time we were 3 or 4 years old. She would explain the plot before the play. She would even get easy versions of Shakespeare and we’d read the plays and talk about them. By the time we went to the performance, we were ready for the magic to begin. To this day, when I enter a theater I feel excited, like something amazing is about to happen.
I think of my mom many times during the day. It’s usually in special moments where I catch myself doing the same things that she did. The other day I took out my iron skillet, admiring how clean and well oiled it was. I thought of Mom, who had taught me the beauty of a skillet. Mom loved her skillets and kept them perfect. I thought about her favorite pans and the chile and the Hungarian goulash that she made in them. Mom made cooking our favorites an occasion.
Another day I was babysitting for my grandniece Beatrix. I put her on the floor, remembering Mom and “the twins” in our family. I can see them when they were little. I can hear my mom encouraging the babies to crawl, feeding them slowly and patiently, always talking to them about things going on. I remember her talking to us, telling us old stories, plots of new Broadway shows, always treating us like we were her friends.
I realize that when I have a problem I often think about how Mom would react. One of my favorites that I taught to my kids is when people criticize you. She’d tell us to just think, “So what ... who cares? … says who?” It still works for me.
I remember an incident that really shows my mom’s attitude. She went to a teacher’s conference, late Friday after school. The teacher carried on about my bad behavior, complaining, ridiculing and being extremely mean.
My mom said to the teacher, “I know it’s Friday afternoon … and I realize that you’ve had a long day. Let’s start all over on Monday …”
Mom, known as Babe for the first 40 years of her life, became “Liz” when we moved to Cincinnati. She showed us about transformations — not just her name changed in Cincinnati. She went back to school and got a B.A. and eventually a master’s degree. She made us feel that we had helped her earn those degrees. I was one of the younger kids so I know now that I’d been no help at all, but she made me feel like her graduation from college was the greatest day of our lives.
I remember a famous incident in our family that all of us laugh about today. It showed another side of Mom. For a year or two, my mother’s aunt Mamie lived with us. There were eight kids at home, two parents and Mamie. It wasn’t the easiest situation. Mamie used to have all kinds of annoying old Irish sayings. I can’t remember them, but they often revolved around the devil getting us for our bad behavior. When my mom did something, Mamie’d say, “the brass about you.” She patted and pinched my mom, following her around while Mom did housework, cooked, or set the table. Mamie was under foot all the time, pestering and commenting..
Once my mom got frustrated and turned to Mamie and yelled, “S---tfire, Mamie! S---tfire!” This is the only time I can ever remember her cussing. It was the funniest thing that I can think of. Suddenly Mamie was holding her ears, and my mom was chasing her, saying the same cuss word several times. Then it was over and Mom was apologizing.
I think of my mom often. To many people it was just remarkable that she had 11 kids and survived so well. But for me, it’s all the little things. Caring about pans, talking to kids about Shakespeare, fending off the world with her favorite questions, losing her cool, and sharing all of her good fortune with us, her children.
Comments
Esmarelda (anonymous) says...
What lovely memories you have. No wonder you are such a great and generous person! S---fire, I mean it! (The whole phrase in case you want to know, is "S---tfire and save the matches!")
May 9, 2007 at 6:17 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
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