It's my story and I'm stickin to it!

My beautiful mom and me!

When I started writing this past year, I thought that I wanted to talk about my mom and how little she understood me.  I wanted to describe her frequent bouts with depression and her self absorbed, demanding and often judgmental attitude.    For some reason I kept putting it off and months went by without a word being written.   As I frequently sifted through my memories, the ones that kept rising to the surface were those that made me smile.  So dear readers, please forgive me for skipping over the juicy dysfunction, but the fire of my poor misunderstood self seems to have burned out. These are the things that my heart wants to remember most about my beautiful mom.  It's my personal history and after years of wasted precious energy feeling disappointed in my mom's shortcomings, I have chosen to write the story that matters  most to me.  

Mom has been gone a long time.  I held her hand as she slipped from this world 13 years ago.  I know she found peace and happiness at last, because she told me…..soon after she left, but that story will have to wait for another time.  For now I wish to jump into my time machine and visit some special moments with her.  

I should mention first that mom grew up rather poor.  It was her goal to find a handsome prince who would save her and provide her with the kind of life she had always dreamed of, a life filled with beautiful things where she imagined herself to be queen of her domain.  She found her kind prince when she met my dad.  The rest is history.  Did she live happily ever after?  She gave it her best effort, but her personal demons came with her to the beautiful castle and they became more and more demanding of her attention as the years went by.  But I digress, my time machine is waiting. 

I am 6 years old and standing on the pier of our summer cottage.  Mom and dad built much of it themselves.  It looks like a little log cabin nestled in the woods at the edge of Golden Lake. My mom's laughter floats gaily on the summer wind as she glides by in a sailboat owned by the neighbors.  She loves to sail and often goes along with them.  Dressed in her white shorts and captains hat, she seems wild, free and completely in her element as she bravely steps one foot out onto the dagger board when the sailboat heels in the wind.

Mom on a typical Sunday at the cottage.

At my next stop, I am 12 years old and mom has decided that we are all going to learn to downhill ski.  Each winter, we wait in excited anticipation for the first snowflakes to fall. It is the beginning of many winters spent flying down snow covered slopes at every opportunity.  Mom even lets me skip school frequently for impromptu trips up north along with my dad for long weekends. We often drop everything and grab our suitcases at the last minute to drive the 5 hours north in a snowstorm just to experience the fresh fallen snow in the morning.  There is no such thing as too much snow to make it there.  She is almost always the last one down the main run at closing time. After a day of skiing we gather with our friends around a huge fireplace in the lodge, drink hot chocolate and eating fondue.  I have no idea then, how precious and priceless the memories of this time will always remain to me.

Me at 15, stylishly dressed for the slopes!

My time machine has traveled back a few years again. It's a warm and windy spring day.  My mom and I have made a huge kite out of wood and a silky fabric.  I can still see the colorful flowered fabric, and the finished kite is taller than I am.  We carry it to a nearby open field and as the strong wind quickly carries our kite high up into the blue sky, we hang on together to the spinning spool of string.  It swoops around tugging hard on the thick string as we laugh ourselves silly while trying to hold on tight.  But it's far too windy for our big kite and the string breaks and sends it plummeting to earth.  We run giggling to where it has fallen a block away and bring it home, hoping no one has seen us, because I have skipped school again.

I hop back into my time machine and shortly come to rest next to a beautiful shimmering blue swimming pool my parents have installed in our yard.  It is a rare thing to have back in those days and as introverted as I am, I suddenly have more friends than I can count.  We are so excited each spring as my dad turns on the big faucet that fills it up, that we jump in before it is completely full.  The water is extremely cold at first, but we don't care or even notice.  Mom graciously puts up with most of the neighborhood kids in the pool all summer long.  She often serves a delicious lunch at poolside for the gang. Speakers have been attached to the house outdoors so that we can have our favorite music playing while we swim.  My friends and I make up water ballets to the strains of some Hawaiian album.  My mom is always dressed in a fancy sundress or one of her many beautiful bathing suits and is a good sport about jumping in to help an occasional kid that forgets how to swim.  I run wild and free those long hot days at a time when life feels safe and summers are endless.

How I spent my summer vacations!

My time machine has stopped to hover above the expanse of years, and as I gaze out over them I see that despite some barren burnt out patches, much of the landscape is rich and green and filled with life and sweet sounds. My mom loved butterflies, moths and birds and we spent countless hours watching them in our big wooded yard.  I know the names of all of them because of her.  I can also identify all of the bird songs and am surprised in my middle age to discover that everyone else doesn't necessarily know these things. She loved good music and had a large collection of records that she played often on our stereo.  I developed a taste for this music at a very young age and while my friends were listening to the Beatles, I was playing Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole and Tony Bennett. I still can see my mom teaching my dad how to dance to this music in our living room.

Mom and dad all dressed up for a dance at the country club.

As I gaze out once more at the landscape of her life, I can see that my mom knows that the dearest things to me are art, books and nature.  I am always provided with a bounty of art materials and books along with the encouragement and freedom to paint, read, dream and explore the natural world.  I climb trees, build tree forts, wade in every creek, pond and lake, collect stones and feathers, learn to knit, draw, paint and play the piano.  I ski, skate, swim, fish, sail, and bike. I love dressing like a princess or playing in the dirt.  It has taken me over 60 years to realize that despite her dark secrets and obvious emotional pain, I didn't miss a thing!

As I hover in my time machine I hear her voice whisper, “Please play the piano for me dear.” I sit down to play her favorite songs softly each afternoon.  She is lying down and for some reason my music helps her to relax as nothing else can.  One of her favorite songs is called "Moon Mist" and she wants me to play it over and over again.  I love playing the piano and this becomes our daily ritual.  She seems to be able to drift off to sleep on the couch for a little while as I softly play.  After about an hour, I stop and tiptoe from the room so I don't disturb her. Even as a young child, I sense that it is a struggle for her to be happy.  I will never find out why.