Mother's Day Musings About My Mom

When I was about 5, my mom ran down a dock and jumped into a lake to pluck out a 3-year-old kid who had fallen in. Now a top tale in the family folklore, this episode also lent skepticism to later life long claims that she didn't know how to swim. Oh, she knew how to swim like a 'mom'; head held high, neck elongated to keep her hair dry, arms part breast-stroking, part doggie paddling, but it was very rare to see her in the water, be it the ocean or the pool. She liked soaking up the sun and if she got hot, she would just dangle her legs in the water while sitting on the ledge, to which of course we would cling to for the ride. At the beach, she showed us how if we stood where the waves just end, eventually our feet would be buried in the wet sand; this still entertains and captivates me.

I remember Mom setting me up on the sofa in the family room when sick with all the necessary provisions; Kleenex box, trash can, books, magazines, Sucrets and Vicks. She'd bring me warm ginger ale, toast, tomato soup and tea. Once past the danger zone, but not well enough to return to school, she would reluctantly and I'm sure feeling guilty, go back to work. On her lunch break she would come home bearing gifts: the latest editions of Tiger Beat, 16, and MAD, and the newest Peanuts book. It was a luxurious feeling; soda and a grilled cheese sandwich, no other kids around, mom just focusing on me. With all that and the soaps and talk shows on TV, it was a blissful reprieve. Trashy magazines meant for older kids, adult TV, soda, the house to myself, this was truly a mysterious heaven even though my throat was sore and my nose stuffy. When the other kids returned home from school; this secret mom created world vanished abruptly as they brazenly changed the channel to what they wanted to watch and eagerly flipped through my new reading material. Everything shifted and being confined to the sofa seemed unnatural amidst the usual noisy family routines; it wasn't special after three o'clock.

Mom and Dad threw great parties; for a long stretch of years they had an annual holiday party and a couple of dinner parties a year. Dad handled the heavy lifting and the bar; it was mom's food that got people excited, it was legendary. She made it all herself. A variety of roll-ups- tasty pastries wrapped around bacon, olives, water chestnuts or Vienna sausages; spinach balls, crab spread, chili con queso, so hot it made you cry, bowls and bowls of shrimp, Swedish meat balls, sweet and sour peppers, bread bowls with ham or spinach or crab dip, all kinds of chips, crackers, breads, nuts, crudités. And to top it off, tiny rich desserts like mini cheesecakes, cream puffs, and three layer brownies. Nothing ever ran out.

At first, the oldest took us away for pizza and a movie, as we got older we stayed. We kept the bowls filled, replenished ice, cleaned ashtrays and threw away empty cans. During our college years, we became part guest, part help; we graduated to bartenders, our friends stopped by. The first stop was always the dining room where the overflowing tantalizing spread laid waiting. Even the clean up, in our family meant lingering over each item, savoring just a few more bites before wrapping them up and putting them away.

Every time I moved, mom would drive over and take me shopping for necessities and help me decorate. I remember once, when I was going for a romantic look, sitting on the floor of my new place with her, completely surrounded by a huge assortment of dried flowers and raffia that we had bought that day. She's always been great with crafts and she instantly started putting bouquets together, but it wasn't the feel I was going for. I showed her my vision and she took it and ran with it. We stayed up late, sitting on the floor, talking, laughing, cutting stems, tying flowers together and finding the best places for them.

In one of my places, the bedroom closet was covered in a mangy raggedy carpet. Mom said, we'll just cut it out. I may have come to that on my own, but for mom to suggest this in my rental was cool and the stamp of approval. We went out; bought a carpet cutting utensil that I didn't know existed and she got right down and started slicing sections out. Done. I was oozing with admiration; I hadn't often seen this 'to hell with the rules' side of her.

I live too far away now for her to drive over and have lunch or resolve my residence snafus. But we still enjoy talking about it as if it could happen. Even now, middle aged, I love saying, I wish you could come over and help me tackle these blinds, or the funky open space that the removable baseboards cover or don't, or make me a grilled cheese sandwich when I'm sick. And she always says, I'll fly right out; you just tell me if you need me. We love these conversations.

Last summer, I protested the Iraq war with her and her group, standing with our signs on a corner at a busy intersection. Mom is one of the oldest members and I say this with no bias, one of the most beloved. I have a picture of her holding her sign on my Facebook and it's my most commented on picture. In addition to her own, she has many honorary kids and grandkids earned from decades of remembering birthdays and mailing cards right on time. Whether she has met them or not, the children of her kids' friends get birthday cards from Mrs. Joseph every year. These cards are anticipated and taken for granted at the same time; and appreciated more than she'll ever know.

Mom is opinionated, passionate, witty, idealistic, generous, intelligent and loving. She is a bleeding heart liberal. She will tell you what she thinks. She will bring you food for many occasions. She is genuinely interested in people and what they do and say. I don't know how much a child can completely know their mother, but the person I've known my whole life, through all the years is a strong, funny, sweet and compassionate woman, a loyal friend and a fantastic mother.