Sunday, May 20, 2012

That's What He Said


Last Sunday I took myself out to lunch. It was about noon and church had just let out. Living near a retirement village it's not hard to spot so many carefree, retired, restaurant-going, golf cart-driving, gray-haired folk who seem to have lived a good life and now have no worries in their little retirement world. So, as I sat and observed the patrons coming and going I noticed this foursome in particular. And this is why. The man on the left spoke across the table to his friend with constant hand movement. Was he telling a fish story? or how to rotate a tire? It was extreme movage of the hands. And all the while his sweet little wife next to him delighted the woman across from the table with her soft spoken (who-knows-what-she-was-saying) monologue. Was it grandkids or gossip or gardening tips? Who knows. But those two talked for a good half hour, non-stop, while the couple on the right just listened. Non-stop listening. 

I thought about my husband and how many years we've been together and how did we behave in restaurants? And that prompted the next question; are we that old? And do we look this good? But the real question to me was, which couple would my husband and I be in this scenario?? The mind reels. But the fact is, we will never look this mature nor this responsible. Ever. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. So my question didn't really need an answer at all.

Then I went home and took a nap. People-watching is exhausting. Maybe I am that old. pshh...

So... which couple are you?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Thoughts on Mother's Day 2012


Mom's Wedding Day

I grew up a Navy brat in the 50's and 60's, moving every few years, and after 20 years of serving his country, my dad reluctantly retired and moved us to the Antelope Valley in southern California. There were four of us kids and I was somewhere in the middle. After entering civilian life, my father found a perfectly respectable job in civil service while my mother was a perfectly normal stay at home working mom. And work she did. The woman was domestic as all get-out. Our house was cleaned and spit-polished daily. Our clothes were hand-sewn, starched, and wrinkle-free. Our hair was curled and our bangs were short. Our pillow cases and my dad's handkerchiefs were ironed for crying out loud--even the garage was organized and clear of clutter. We ate three home made meals a day and I can count on one hand the number of times we ate out during my first 16 years of life. We had a formal living room that we NEVER used. We kids were only allowed to step foot in there barefoot and right after our baths. It was a special treat to sit on that pristine white sofa, scrubbed and red-cheeked in my jammies, wondering if I would have such a nice white sofa when I was grown up.
Grandma, Mom holding me, Dad and Sherry in front

Being a religious woman, she taught us geeky sayings like “Pretty is as pretty does”, and “Look before you Leap” and (my favorite) “If you don't have anything good to say about someone then say nothing at all”. She taught us the golden rule, “please” and “thank you” and how important it is to use proper grammar. I rolled my eyes and sighed whenever she would open her mouth, but she was right, as we all know by now. I look back on those days and in my mind I see my mom vacuuming the living room in a dress, heels and a pearl necklace. I know she didn't but she may as well have been. She was the perfect June Cleaver.

Now I thought my mother was average. I thought that every kid had a mother like mine and a comfortable home with fresh baked cookies waiting for them after school. I thought every mother was a strong matriarchal figure, holding the family together while my dad was called away, sometimes for months, to serve Uncle Sam. She was virtually a single mom and carried our burdens, shielded us from stress or, oftentimes the truth, to keep us from worrying. I never gave her much thought, unless it involved her meeting my needs and expectations; new clothes, a ride to the library, hot dinners, popcorn on Friday nights and a warm bed with clean sheets to slip into at the end of the day. As we became teenagers and o-so worldly-wise, my sister and I were regular know-it-alls, noticing my mother's faults and eagerly bringing them to her attention. We mocked the way she pronounced certain words (she was from Arkansas, we were California to the bone). She took up the ukelele and would sit in that white living room playing and singing to her heart's content...but we were too cool to appreciate that and scoffed at her from the other room till she finally gave it up. Oh mom...we were such jerks. We were so selfish; so self-absorbed.

Mom and Me a few years ago at the Whistlestop Cafe in GA.
For the record, I did apologize to her for that in my later, adult years and even bought her another ukelele hoping she'd play again. But by then the arthritis in her hands had taken away any ability she had to play. I also apologized to her in later years for the stress I caused her during my checkered past...like running off at 18 with an AWOL sailor to live in a van near San Francisco with my other hippie friends...and without the benefit of holy matrimony. She just smiled at me and said “I know, Mary Catherine. I know”. During the last 15 years of her life, we became close. She'd listen to me as I'd pour out my heart about the difficulties of raising teenagers and the nuisance of annual pap smears. She'd just smile. She knew.

She passed away almost four years ago. She was going on 83 and had lived a good long life. It was her time and she was ready to go. But I sure as heck wasn't ready for her to leave. I almost drove to the desert today (Mother's Day) to visit her grave—but she's not there, so I stayed at home with that hollow feeling in my heart I get around this time of year. My own adult children came over and I let them distract me with their various stories of the difficulties of raising kids and the inconvenience of their annual OB/GYN visits. I nod and listen...she taught me well. I like to think mom is listening in, laughing at our jokes and nodding her head in wisdom.  I like to think that someday I'll see her when it's my time to “shuffle off this mortal coil”and fly to heaven. I can see the look of excitement she'll have on her face when she sees me for the first time, and I imagine she'll be waiting for me with a fresh pot of coffee and a twinkle in her eye as we sit and visit and talk about the old days. I know we'll skip over the trying times, and only talk about the good cause that's the way we'll remember it. I'm glad I have that to look forward to.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Mary Catherine ~