Memphis and my mother

As John and I plowed through boxes and boxes of files and memorabilia this Memorial Day, I came across Mom's death certificate. She died on March 3, 2006, one year and three days of our move into the Memphis house. I wonder what she would have thought of Memphis. She grew up in St. Louis, never caring for the heat and humidity. But, Mom never looked back. She had no regrets. She had an incredible ability to adjust to her circumstances.

As she approached her 80's, my sisters and I could easily talk about her faults. She drank a little too much in the evening; was quick to criticize; told others she was proud of us, but would not tell us directly; didn’t call us enough; assumed we would do chores for her; and consistently refused to reminisce about her life and what life meant to her. However, if those are the sum of her faults, then we have been very lucky indeed, for Mom was never intentionally hurtful, nor dismissive of us. Mom loved us unconditionally. We felt it.

Mom was an ordinary person. She was not famous. She was not an outstanding member of the community. She went where her husband went and did what he wanted told her to do. She accepted life as it came to her, burying any anger or resentment. She lived an ordinary middle class existence as was expected of women of her generation.

However, being an ordinary person does not mean that her impact on our lives was not significant. Mom taught us to sew exquisitely, and to cook well, even when all there was was leftovers. She made sure we sisters were treated fairly, even though that might mean we all got the same Christmas present that only one of us lusted after. She introduced us to classical music, in spite of the fact that we are all tone deaf, and Dad’s idea of great music was Montavani and Barber Shop Quartet. She led our Brownie and Girl Scout troops where she endured endless meetings, trips with gaggles of giggling, teasing, and sometimes fighting girls, and chaired the local Girl Scout cookie drive defending hundreds of cases of cookies stored in our garage against Dad’s veiled threats to have them thrown away.

Mom taught us all to shop ‘til we dropped, to pick out the expensive stuff for bargain prices, and to check the seams on ready-made clothing to ensure they would not fall apart in the wash. In essence, Mom made sure was had good manners, good skills, good taste, and a solid up-bringing.

Being an ordinary person, did not mean that Mom was dumb. She was an avid reader until she lost her sight to macular degeneration. She was determined that we should be well educated, when she was not. She pushed us to finish college, even when two of us did it in fits and starts. Although our Dad was the accountant, it was our Mom who kept the household books, stretched the dollar, and found ways to get more for less. Her bookkeeping was so accurate, that when Dad accused her of a $10 error one month, she proved him wrong when my youngest sister, age 5, swept a $10 bill out from under the refrigerator the next week.

Being an ordinary person did not limit Mom's sense of adventure. She loved to travel and experience other worlds. Before she had difficulty walking, she climbed the Great Wall of China and hiked in Alaska and Ireland. Her declining health did not stop her easily. She pushed herself to see Scotland and Mexico just a few years ago.

Our Dad encouraged us to be whatever we wanted to be, but it was Mom who gave us a sense of adventure. Dad’s idea of adventure was staying at a Holiday Inn on the predictable annual visits our grandparents in Florida. Mom was the person who would visit New York on her own. She took risks to give us our independence as kids. We were free to roam the neighborhood, get bloody noses fighting boys, and play in the woods behind Sylvan Circle. Only the dinner whistle (we had to come on three blows) could bring us home.

Being an ordinary person in the turbulent times of the 60’s and 70’s was challenging for Mom, but she persevered, stuck by us and did not try to stifle the development of our ideas and beliefs. We were a rebellious lot, refusing to adopt her life style and, at times, shocked her. She only sighed when one of us would announce a divorce, stay out all night, take up motor cycles and boats, or change a career. She could not fathom such things or why we'd do them.
Mom wanted her ashes buried next to Dad's grave. But, knowing Mom, just placing the black plastic box in the ground would never do. She almost never wore black and only used plastic for leftovers. So, my sister found an urn which suited her well – it was in the southwest style, her favorite place on earth, and it was on sale at Costco, as she always loved discount shopping. Also the urn was large enough to keep her ashes from being too tight, because as the big woman she was, she always changed into loose fitting clothes immediately upon returning home. It only lacked a side holster for her Martini flask.

I think about Mom often, especially in this new city. I am seeing my circumstances through her eyes. My retirement here is my new adventure. Not working a full time job does not make me dumb and I am making new friends. As I grew up, I watched Mom do it time and time again. Whether shopping, walking on the street, or at an event, she had this ability to reach out to people she didn't know and talk with them like she'd known them for years. On the up side, people felt her warmth, energy and interest. On the down side, people might get an earful of what they should do to solve their problems. I'm focusing on the up side.