April 24, 2023 I Have Become My Mom

I will always picture my mother, standing at the kitchen window pensively looking out over the Clinton River upon which our house was built. She spent a lot of time in this pose; I sometimes wondered what she was thinking about. I wish I had a picture of her standing there and am thinking of recreating it, with me representing her.

Like her, I spend time standing at my kitchen window looking out over one of my ponds. Sometimes I am pensive, but mostly I become breathless at the beauty before me.

The older I get, the more I recognize myself in my mother. Mom always wanted to travel, but my father did not enjoy that, so her desires got subjugated to his. To satisfy her yearning for new places to view, she and I would watch “George Pierrot Presents” nearly every day upon my return from early elementary school. It was a production of our local city and presented videos from all over the US made by various people. We liked one person’s videos in particular because his short films were filled with comedy. I really loved that show, and there are none like it anywhere to be seen today. As I do not like to travel anymore, especially by plane, I satisfy my need for new sights by watching international TV shows.

I recall how impressed Mom was by our very first color TV; Bonanza was especially enjoyed by her. The beautiful scenery, I think, meant much more to her than any of the characters or plots of the show. While I cannot watch a show without decent characters and plot points, I consider the beautiful scenery of these other countries a definite bonus.

Mom read a lot, as opposed to the constant TV watching of my father. She would become totally immersed in them; it was an escape from her mundane life. I used to read a lot, and before bed, I still enjoy my tattered classics from the 19th and early 20th centuries. I must buy books as I cannot stand libraries. My Mom bought books, too. My brother and his abhorrent wife tossed all of them when they “cleaned up” the house after her death.

I need to give some exercise to my brain by reading more and different books, and fully entering another world, as Mom did, which can be done only through books. This will require either a 45-minute drive to an almost real bookstore or an order online. As it stands now, in my laziness I have become my father in being constantly before the big screen within just a few hours after I quit the small one in my “office.”

My mother loved to window shop, as do I. As she grew older, she had fewer and fewer friends to enjoy this pastime with her and so it was given up. I live in an area where there is nothing new or great in the windows to look at, so I no longer window shop either.

I recall being very impressed when I was quite young by how respectfully she was treated by the women at the local dress shop. It was also impressive to me when Mom would put things on “lay-away.” I had no idea what that meant, but it seemed quite special. I cannot recall if she was ever treated with such deference in any other context. In my entire life, I would only experience that level of respect during the few times that I visited a certain corporate head office during my career.

Mom was bullied by my father in the middle years of her marriage. I was subjected to continual emotional abuse by my spouse starting in the first third of our marriage. Mom once said to me, “Never marry a charming man.” She was dead right on that one.

My mother suffered from depression, as do I. When I was in late elementary school, I would often find her laying on her side in bed, with the downward arm being tossed over her shoulder. Periodically, a short glass of whiskey would be part of her routine from that point on. I used to have a lot of issues with drink; those issues have vanished along with my children. Recently, I went from total abstinence for many years to the very occasional bottle of wine.

While she still had children living in the house, Mom was an excellent homemaker. She retired from teaching when I was perhaps two or three. I remember my caregiver before she retired, a young black girl who made sweet potato pie. Mom’s dinners each night were thoughtfully prepared and nutritious; leftovers never went to waste as she planned out all the meals in advance. One night’s roast would find itself shredded into chop suey the next night. Mom had a small tin recipe box guiding her which I would have loved to have, but that was also tossed.

While I never became an excellent homemaker like my mother, in later years she no longer took such meticulous care with meal preparation. She began to yearn for food that could just be there to be eaten: “dog food for people.” I feel the same way, and have done for a very long time.

My focus is very narrow in this piece. There are many funny anecdotes to relate about her, accolades that she deserves and many acrid interactions between us that could be brought to light.

I very much regret that I was not the daughter she deserved. It is also a shame that her upbringing, and later mine and my children’s, did not emphasize the concept of comforting one another when such comfort was sorely needed. This partial lack of emotional empathy distorted the closeness that we both needed, but never truly attained.