Mother's Day memories

 

Me, Jordan, Christian's sister Julie, and Christian's mom

Facebook was alive with pictures of mothers today, many of them vintage, taken when the mothers were young. I loved looking at them, but it made me sad that I have few such of my mom, and they are packed away because of my limited space. When she was very young, Mom’s father told her she took such a bad picture the only place he would hang it was in the barn. She avoided the camera the rest of her life, but at midlife, when my best memories are, she was lovely with wavy auburn hair and a quick smile.

That’s the first thing I think of when I recall Mom—laughter. She was always quick to find something to laugh, even giggle about. When we were young, she told my brother and me stories of our fathers (they were roommates) in their medical school days, and the tears would roll down her cheeks. She could recall her own foibles with equal glee, like the time she signed important legal papers Alice P. MacBread (the name was MacBain, but she was making toast).

Once secretary to Robert M. Hutchins, chancellor of the University of Chicago and founder of the Great Books program, she remained intellectually curious most of her life, reading everything from historians Will and Ariel Durant to nutrition theorist Adelle Davis. She was a strict believer in Davis’ theories, and healthy eating was important to her. She was equally comfortable fixing a full dinner each night for my meat-and-potatoes father or entertaining twenty or so friends and Dad’s colleagues. In summers, she carried clothes and groceries on her back in a duffel bag for a mile and fed us from a primitive kitchen that had no electricity, no running water, and only bottled gas. Mom taught me to cook by letting me experiment in the kitchen, and I bless her to this day for that.

She was tough. Born in 1900 (always easy to keep track of her age), she lived through the Spanish Flu and WWI, lost a husband to complications from a war wound, lived through WWII and married my father, saw us through the polio years (one of the stories she didn’t laugh about) and all the ups and downs of life in America until the early 1980s.

I lost Mom in 1987, but I really lost her much before—to dementia caused by a series of small strokes. It broke my heart, and I wanted to shake her and ask where the gracious lady, full of manners and good taste, had gone. As it was, I didn’t handle it well, but I did the best I could. To this day, I talk to her—about people from the past, about cooking, about her grands and greats—she never knew any of the greats though she adored the grands.

One other woman mothered me. In my sixties I met Bobbie Simms, bookseller and former English teacher, some thirteen years older than I. She was half mother, half sister, a great booster of almost anything I did but never shy about telling me when she thought I needed bringing up short, from having on too much perfume (I didn’t—she was sensitive) to being overly ambitious for my writing. She adopted my grown children because she said they still needed a grandmother, and they adored her. “Bobbie tells it like it is,” they used to say. For a few years, we had a grand time doing “literary” things and lunching and shopping. I lost Bobbie in 2000.

The two are buried in Greenwood Cemetery here in Fort Worth, and I used to drive by, wave, and shout, “Hi, ladies! Are you talking about me?”

We had a lovely Mother’s Day lunch today, joined by Christian’s parents, his sister, her husband and two daughters. Much laughter, many stories told, and memories shared. Christian fixed pulled pork sliders, I made potato salad, and Jordan made a huge fruit salad. So good. Julie and Aaron brought rich, rich desserts which did me in, and I had to nap for two hours after dinner. Just barely recovered now, at seven, but it was a wonderful day. And I am blessed.

Mother's Day table

Who let the dogs out?

One of the lost dogs

He does look a bit arrogant

Remember that song and video? Jacob was so entranced by it that we watched it a thousand times when he was still small enough to sit on my lap. I thought of it today because Jordan had a “dogs out” adventure, and I shared in it vicariously.

Our neighborhood, Berkeley Place, has an active email list, and one of its functions is to deal with lost and loose dogs. Did your dog escape? Put it on the Berkeley Buzz. Spot a loose dog? Put it on the Buzz. It works most all the time. Except today.

It’s a convoluted story, but Jordan got word that two dogs were loose in the 1900 block of Warner Road this afternoon, and they were aggressive, according to Jacob, who had been walking a neighbor’s dogs. So she jumped in my car—yippee! My car needed to be driven—and rushed to the spot.

There they were, lying in the sun—a medium-large black dog and a medium gray/brown/brindle with white markings. She called me, and I posted not one but three messages—one about the dogs, a second warning that they were aggressive, and a third with pictures. Jordan meanwhile was driving from one end of the block to the other, warning pedestrians to avoid the dogs. Her great fear was for a parent with young children. Eventually, though, with no response on the Buzz, she came home. I was reluctant to call Animal Welfare and consign the dogs to who-knows-what fate, on the off chance their owners were away for the day and would return and claim them. As far as I know, the dogs are still there. Someone else has posted a new notice that there are dogs loose on Warner Road, but no one has claimed the dogs.

Other than that, it was kind of a food day. I spent part of the late morning reading Helen Corbitt recipes and discovered some gems of ideas for appetizers. My warning: don’t read such when you’re already hungry for lunch. Today is a leftovers day: I had tuna salad, bean salad, and cottage cheese for lunch, and will have leftover casserole for supper, along with some of those fresh green beans I have discovered no one else in my family will eat.

My kind of lunch

Sunny most of the day, which can’t help but improve one’s disposition, but the temperature never quite got to what I consider comfortable. We had wine on the patio, with Jay behind his screen, but I was wrapped in a sweater. Supposed to be a bit better tomorrow and then rain for three days. It’s only been a week since our grass was mowed, and it’s already knee-high—well, not really, but it sure is long.

And so the days roll on. Thanks to Jordan for adding a bit of spice to this day. Seems like some one thing distinguishes each day (barely) from the last and the next. Wonder what it will be tomorrow?

Checking in

When the highlight of your day was a trip to the grocery, with your daughter and grandson, and when you don’t want to keep on talking about the awful mess that is our government, you know you have nothing to blog about. And yet, my conscience strikes back at me. The OCD part of me says I usually blog every day, so why am I taking today off?

Why, indeed? Because I have zilch of interest to say.

The grocery store trip kept getting postponed because Jordan didn’t feel well this morning. That was okay with me, because I’d spent the night coughing and blowing and got up feeling tired. We finally set out a bit after eleven, and Jordan announced since the three of us were together and we didn’t often have the opportunity, we should go to lunch. So the great lunch debate ensued: Jacob declared he wasn’t hungry, I didn’t really want the Italian she suggested, and finally I said, “Fuzzy’s.” So, Jordan had a salad, Jacob had a bowl of Mexican rice, and I had tacos. I like them because of the feta they use and because the lettuce is usually nice and crisp.

Then off to Albertson’s where driving the handicapped cart is always a challenge because they put so many dumps in the aisles. Jacob kept deviling me to want to drive the cart, and I pointed out it said no children. He, a stickler for accuracy, pointed out that it really said no children allowed in the grocery basket part. I did not let him drive it. Chaos would have followed.

We did a fairy efficient shopping and were home by 12:30. I put groceries away and did a couple of other chores, worked a bit, had a good long nap. Cough drops were on my grocery list, and they made all the difference. I slept soundly and woke feeling a bit more refreshed. Hope they work again tonight, though I sense the cold is on its way out. What do they say? Seven days? I should have two to go.

The Burtons were all out this evening, so I wrote, read, cooked myself a lamb chop and some spinach, and had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Now it’s late, and I’m ready for bed. And, look, I got through an entire blog without mentioning Trump of the Republicans. Such restraint!

Somehow that wonderful Molly Ivins quote pops into my mind, so that’s what I’ll end with: “So keep fighting for freedom and justice, beloveds, but don't forget to have fun doin' it. Be outrageous... rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce. And when you get through celebrating the sheer joy of a good fight, be sure to tell those who come after how much fun it was!” Good night, all.

The Alamo….and kids

 

Lily B. Clayton fifth graders at the Texas State Capitol

No, I have no idea where Jacob is in that sea of red shirts

What fun for them!

By a kind of cool coincidence two of my grandsons were at the Alamo today. Ford, youngest of the Austin two, was there on a fourth-grade field trip scheduled to be back in Austin by 4:00. Jacob, local grandchild, is on a fifth-grade overnight trip (with his dad as one of the chaperones), scheduled to stop at many places on the way to San Antonio, so I doubt the two boys crossed paths.It was probably later when Jacob got to the Alamo but I hope it wasn’t a rushed stop. Jacob asked if I couldn’t tell Aunt Megan and Ford to hang around a bit until he got there, but I explained they, like him, would be on a school bus. I haven’t yet heard reactions to the iconic Texas history site, but I am more than curious.

Back in the day when I was talking to every and any book-related group that would have me, I had a prepared speech called, “Please, Mom, not the Alamo again.” It had to do with my love of Texas history that was not shared by my middle-school and older kids who were into Star Wars and the like.

Jamie once seriously explained to me how much more money I could be making if I abandoned this Texas history foolishness and wrote about intergalactic space, about which I know nothing and have less interest. I think today they understand, but in their salad days they were really tired of me dragging the to this and that historical site.

Meanwhile, back in Fort Worth it was a lovely day albeit one tending towards hot. A note on Facebook pointed out that our city this weekend is hosting both the Dean and DeLuca (Colonial) National Golf Championship and the Cliburn International Piano Competition. Pretty special city we live in.

It was a good day in my own little corner of the city. I had lunch at Carshon’s Delicatessen with Sharon Corcoran and Priscilla Tate, two friends I hope to get to know better. Sharon had knee surgery in November and understands about walkers and the like, and she is terrific about making sure I’m safe and making things easy for me. I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation—hadn’t seen Priscilla, retired from TCU as I am, in a long time, and we did some catching up. And I got a pickled herring fix.

Tonight, friends Sue and Teddy came for happy hour and were good enough to go into the house, get the Cavaliers, and bring them out to the cottage so I could feed them. Before they left, they took the girls back inside and crated them. We caught up on news of kids, jobs, and other urgent matters. Sue and her children lived next door to me for several years, and we remain close friends. When she brought Teddy around, I adopted him as family right away.

You’d think writing would be a full-time occupation, but at this point in my life I seem to do it between other things. It’s not bad. I am editing a novel, sequel to The Perfect Coed, and found myself really caught up in the story this afternoon. Now that’s a good thing.

My life is good—I hope yours is too.