Mom's Candle . . .

While we were in Lancaster, PA and browsing through all the specialty shops in Kettle Kitchen, my daughter was busy smelling candles. She turns to me and tells me to smell the one in her hand. I knew that smell well, but I couldn't identify it immediately. The name of the candle, made by 1803, is called Lavender Linen. I take another smell and tell her, "It smells like my mother." Of course she didn't remember my mother’s scent, but she is partial to the fresh linen scent. Maybe because she spent so much of her baby and toddler years being held, cuddled and hugged by grandma. I took another whiff of this candle, that stirred up so many memories of my childhood, when my daughter turned to me an said I’m buying this for you. I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted, saying “You said it smells like Grandma.” My first thought was to let my brother smell it and see if he had the same feeling as I did. 

About a week later, my brother was visiting me and I suddenly remembered the candle. I brought it down and opened it for him to smell. “What does this smell like,” I asked. He said it smelled familiar, he knew the scent, but couldn’t put his finger on it. I gave him some time, but he could identify it. He asks me what I think it smells like. I said, “Mom.” He nodded and smelled it again. 

My mother, who never wore perfume and used Camay soap, always washed her laundry and hung it out to dry on the clothesline. The fragrance from her freshly laundered clothes, that crisp linen smell, was strong and almost intoxicating. This simple candle captured it perfectly. Suddenly, I had the urge to try and purchase more of these candles. I checked online and the scent has been discontinued by the manufacturer, their remaining candles sold out. I don’t recall the store we purchased the one I have, so I checked all the stores in Kettle Kitchen online. None of them advertised the scent, probably because it’s been discontinued. In any case it’s no where to be found online. 

I’m not going to light this candle unless I find another one just like it somewhere on a store shelf.  I love it. My daughter must have been instinctually aware of it significance, more so than I was that moment in the store. I’m so happy she bought it for me. Every time I smell it I’m transported back in time, to kisses and hugs, to unconditional love . . . to mom. 

Mom's Love Of Music...

My mother was always singing…that is when she wasn’t yelling, criticizing, studying the racing forms, cooking, ironing, shopping…. I don’t know when her love of music started, but I imagine it was when she was very young. There weren’t any televisions and radio was all you had back then. She knew the words to all the old songs like the back of her hand. Because of her, I knew all the old songs too, even ones I would have been way too young to be familiar with.

I think I “woke up” to the popular music of my generation when the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. They directed my attention to modern day rock and roll. But before they came on to the scene, I would be singing my mother’s songs. Some of my mother’s favorite singers were Doris Day, Patsy Cline, Peggy Lee, The Andrew Sisters, Perry Como, Dean Martin, Edie Gorme, Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby, Jerry Vale and Andy Williams. She never cared for Tony Bennett, I don’t know why, but she loved Connie Francis. She loved the Big Band Era and most especially the Glen Miller Band. I can remember her singing songs like “How Much Is that Doggie In The Window,” “Sunrise, Sunset,” “Crazy,” “Que Sera Sera,” “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree,” "Fever," and on and on. While other kids were singing Elvis tunes, I was singing “Once I Had A Secret Love.” And I hate to admit it, but even today, I know the words to those old songs much better than any songs from my own generation. The words to the modern songs faded over the years in my memory, but those of my mother’s youth remain with me till today.

The popularity of the Beatles, and other singers of the 60’s, allowed me to add to my love of music. My favorite singers would vary from time to time. My mother would like some of them and hate others. For example, she loved ABBA and would sing along with all their songs. But, she hated Sonny and Cher, particularly Cher. My brother and I were old enough to buy records and albums and we both loved Cher. My mother expressed her distaste with a few choice curse words every time we played her music. She told us to play them when she wasn’t around. The only problem with that request was that my mother was always around. So every now and then we would play an album and sing along, much to her disgust. When I eventually moved on from Cher to Olivia Newton John, my mother’s distress was greatly relieved. And when the movie, Grease, came out, my mother was a huge fan of the movie and songs. My mom also liked Saturday Night Fever and the Bee Gees. She loved Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and disco music. Come to think of it, maybe the only singer she could not tolerate was Cher.

My mother lived to be 88 years old. She spent the last few months in a nursing home. She had taken a fall at home and was sent there for therapy after her hospital stay. She was supposed to come home after she was able to get around, but she had a couple of strokes a few weeks apart. All those years of smoking and going on and off her blood pressure medication probably played a part in that. She also suffered from Alzheimer’s in the last couple of years of her life. It got worse after my father died. She didn’t like being in the nursing home, but she needed round the clock care. On Sunday afternoons the nursing home would bring in entertainment for the residents and their families. The entertainers would be singers, more often than not, and they sang the old time songs the residents were familiar with. I knew all the songs, but more importantly, so did my mom. The music made her happy and amazingly, she sang along to every song without missing a beat. All the words were still in her mind and she sang them as she always had. I sang along with her as I had done countless times before. The Sunday visits were the best because of the music. My brother and I brought a cd player for her room with her favorite songs downloaded from the computer so she could hear them every day. I think she found a lot of comfort and joy in those songs and I could see her whole demeanor changed whenever she heard her music.

There were so many songs that she loved and so many of my memories are attached to them. Every time I hear one being played, I can’t help but sing along. Sometimes one will just hit me out of the blue and I’ll start singing it. I used to sing to my girls when they were babies. To my younger daughter I would always sing “Everybody Loves Somebody…but I don’t love nobody but you.” To my older daughter I would sing “You Are My Sunshine.” They probably don’t remember that at all. Like my mom, I am always singing a song. One thing that bugs my girls is when one of them says a phrase that triggers a song lyric and our conversation stops cold while I sing a few bars. I always felt life should be like a musical and in between conversations we should take a couple of minutes to break out in a song. Imagine all the stress it would relieve if we did? And, at Christmas time, when the malls and stores are playing carols, I am always singing out loud, as my girls speed up their pace to distance themselves from me out of embarrassment. I guess they don’t realize or appreciate that this little annoying trait of mine is part of their grandmother’s legacy that lives on in me.

So as I approach what would have been my mother’s 97th birthday, I hope she knows that for the last nine years I have proudly and loudly carried on her legacy. I will always have a song in my heart for Mom. Happy Birthday, Mom!

My Mother’s 80th Birthday…

Today would have been my mother’s 96th birthday. She left us seven years ago, when she was 89. My mom never really enjoyed celebrating her birthday. I can recall a couple of times when we bought her a cake, flowers or a gift…she really didn’t appreciate the gift or the thought and, she would say, “it’s just another day.” But her 80th Birthday still stands out in my mind and in a few other minds too.

About three weeks prior to my mother’s 80th birthday, we were all at my cousin’s house celebrating her baby daughter’s second birthday. There was a large crowd of friends and family there that day. My mother went around, in a boasting sort of way, making it known that her 80th birthday was just a couple of weeks away. An 80th birthday is, after all, a pretty big accomplishment, no to mention the fact that my mother had been telling us she was on “borrowed time” since she was 50! Well, after the party, we went home and didn’t think any more about it.

The day of her birthday, my cousin calls me to say she wants to see my mother for her 80th birthday and will be driving in that night with her family. I begin to have two conversations…one with my cousin and one in my head. “Oh that’s nice of you, she’ll be surprised!” (In my head I am thinking, oh great, my mother hates surprises and celebrating her birthday.) My cousin says she will bring the cake. I reply, “No, I have a bakery right here, I will get it and bring it to my mother’s tonight.” (In my head I am thinking, how am I going to tell my mother that she will be having a houseful of company, so she can brace herself.) My cousin says she will be there at 6:30 and can’t stay long because the kids have school the next day. I say, “Great, I’ll see you at 6:30.” And now I have to call and tell my mother!

“Hi Mom,” I say, as she picks up the phone. “What do you want?,” she answers. “I have to tell you something and you aren’t going to like it,” I reply. “Why? What is it?,” she asks with an attitude. “Well Maria is coming down tonight with her family to wish you a happy birthday and she wants it to be a surprise,” I explain. In an agitated state, my mother answers, “I don’t want to celebrate my birthday, it’s just another day on the calendar. Tell them to stay home!” “I’m not calling to tell them to stay home when they are trying to do a nice thing for you!” I reply. “WHO THE HELL TOLD THEM IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY?!?” she demands to know. “You did! You told everyone at the party two weeks ago, and now they want to do something nice and come see you tonight. If you don’t want company, you call and tell them.” I answer, “and if not, remember to act surprised!” 

Well of course, my mother doesn’t call my cousin to cancel the party and everyone arrives at 6:30 pm to wish my mom a happy birthday. A few minutes into the “party,” my cousin suggests that we call another of our cousins, who lives downstairs, in the basement apartment of my mother's house, and tell her to come up and have a piece of cake. No one knows what time she comes home from work, but there are times it’s late. My cousin, Ann, who lives in the basement, is a bit illogical in her thinking, so I volunteer to make the call, as I communicate very clearly. And, when I call at 7 pm, I get her answering machine. I leave this message: “Ann, Maria and her family are here to celebrate my mother’s birthday. We have a cake. Maria has to leave early because the kids have school tomorrow. If you get this message in time, and you want a piece of cake, you are welcome to join us.” 

Now, we continue to talk and visit and my father puts up the coffee pot. My mother, despite her complaining, actually enjoys being the center of attention and being made a fuss over. At 7:45 we sing Happy Birthday and cut the cake. There are 13 of us present. Everyone is chatting, eating cake and sipping coffee, when Ann walks in at 8 pm. She wishes my mom a happy birthday and says hi to everyone. The she turns to me and says, “You always do this to me! You couldn’t have waited until I got here to have cake?” I say, “I left a message saying Maria couldn’t stay long, the kids have school tomorrow and we had no idea what time you would be home.” She says, “you did not say they were leaving early.” I get irate. I chose my words carefully to avoid this argument and she still didn’t get it! “I did say they had to leave early, that was the point of the call,” I answered, in a not so nice voice, “I know what I said!” “No you didn’t,” she insists. Now I am about to have a real stroke, so I say “Let’s go downstairs RIGHT NOW and play the message!” She answers, “I deleted it!”

Well, I am seeing red and I started yelling at Ann. I tell her she arrives late to every party, no matter how much advanced notice she is given. Sometimes she shops for a gift the morning of the party. Is everyone supposed to wait for her? I keep it up until I see the frightened look on all the children’s faces and the stunned expressions on the adults. I stop, quickly try to compose myself and apologize for my outburst. And this is how my mother’s birthday ended. Because it was now 8:30 and it takes Maria at least a half hour to 45 minutes to get home. 

Sixteen years later and I remember it like it was yesterday. My girls, who barely remember anything much of their childhood, have vivid memories of this occasion. In fact, I’m sure everyone remembers it well. In case you think I am nuts, my cousin Ann has a very long history of poor communication, poor judgment, and no logic. My explosion was a result of years of being subjected to her irrationality and also from the fact that I took great pains to be clear to avoid any misunderstanding that night. On top of all that, I am my mother's daughter, and the apple didn't fall far from the tree! Oh well, at least it was memorable.

Happy 96th Birthday in heaven, Mom!

My Mom and Prayer…

My mother was not a religious woman by any means. I only remember her being inside a church on weddings and funerals. But somehow she instill in me the power of prayer. Every time I had a test to take, she would ask me what time it was being given and told me she would prayer for me at that time. I actually believed her prayers worked more so than my studying, and I always got good grades.

I seldom took of a day from school. I had to be really sick to stay home. I was always afraid I would miss something and not be able to catch up or make up the work. Of course that was ridiculous, but that’s the way my mind worked. One day, when I was in high school, I was too sick to go to school. I worried about it all day, which didn’t help. My imagination ran away with thoughts of how much I was missing. Thankfully, I was well enough to go in the next day. As I prepared to leave, I asked my mother to pray that I hadn’t missed too much work an wouldn’t have a lot of homework to make up. She said she would, and off I went.

The day started as it always does. Nothing unusual was going on at school. I got to class and took my seat. Suddenly, the fire alarms went off! Great I thought, this will kill some time and there will be less work for me to have to worry about. Little did I know, it’s wasn’t just a fire drill, it was a bomb scare. Someone had cut up a broom stick and painted the pieces red and tied them to an alarm clock. The bomb squad had to be called in to check it out. Meanwhile, an hour went by, then two hours went by and kids were leaving the school and going home. They were sick of waiting and half the day was gone with no end in sight. I’m thinking to myself, what the hell kind of prayers is my mother saying? She practically got me a whole day off!

We were finally allowed back into the building as the “bomb” turned out to be a joke. I proceeded to my next class. When I got there, there weren’t many students at all. Besides me, there were maybe one or two, not enough for the teacher to waste her lesson on. So we were told to take out our books and keep busy. I did my homework from yesterday and copied notes I had missed. The rest of the classes were the same. By the end of the day, I had not only caught up with notes and homework, I even got a little bit ahead because I was able to do the next day’s homework too. Needless to say I was relieved and couldn’t wait to get home to tell my mother how well her prayers worked.

My mother was amused with my little story and, of course, happy I was no longer stressing and whining about my school work. I told her I don’t know what she did or said in her prayers, but it couldn’t have worked out better for me. If I hadn’t been convinced before in the power of prayer, I was sure as hell 100% a believer after that.