POEM OF THE DAY: "MY MOTHER"

 

Dear George, 

I don’t know how I got started on it, but recently I’ve been working on a poem titled “My Mother”. It’s been a very engrossing task, and it’s brought back many happy memories. Here’s my current version. 

Love, 

Dave 

                         MY MOTHER 

My mother grew up in the flapper age 

The Roaring Twenties, the Charleston the rage 

Her life path was shaped by that stage 

My mother met my father in school 

She found him charming and cool 

And he felt that she was a jewel 

My mother could have been a Hollywood star 

Her beauty cream was kept in a porcelain jar 

The fairest of the P.T.A. mothers by far 

My mother birthed a girl and three boys 

The boys made commotion and noise 

But she taught the girl style and poise 

My mother was enamored of flowers 

Cultivating her garden for hours 

Her green thumb had wondersome powers 

My mother liked riding a horse 

Which gave her a sense of brute force 

When the stable shut down, much remorse 

My mother was an actress on stage 

Played a tiger who escaped from its cage 

“That’s my mom!” I yelled, three years of age 

My mother was an avid jazz fan 

For her, Louis Armstrong was the man 

Play some Louis, she’d dance the can-can 

My mother took me to my first movie 

“Meet Me in St. Louis,” so groovy 

My most exciting outing as a juvie 

My mother taught us all the birds’ names 

Bird-watching was one of our games 

Wild turkeys and pheasants, our aims 

My mother was a razzmatazz cook 

She mastered Irma’s joyous cookbook 

Broiled whitefish, fresh off the hook 

My mother did La Parlor de Beauty 

The homies, great gossip, never snooty 

Enter frazzled, walk out as a cutie 

My mother enjoyed a big party 

Hanging out with Jackie and Marty 

Costumes, poetry, oil paintings, so arty 

My mother would boat on Green Bay 

Mike and Jean, the whole gang for the day 

Fish Creek and Egg Harbor on the way 

My mother planned a Christmas Eve soiree 

All our cousins came over to play 

Uncle Karl’s fancy gifts made the day 

My mother saved our Irish Setter Mike 

Who fell through the ice on a hike 

She risked her own life for that tyke 

My mother and dad loved their Farm 

She decorated the cabin with charm 

A family escape, safe from harm 

My mother adored Lovey, her cat 

hite Angora and just a smidge fat 

Lovey’d jump on her lap for a chat 

My mother expired in Eighty-Six 

Of afflictions the docs couldn’t fix 

My plan: Meet for lunch near the Styx

Mom Memories

Dear George, 

If my mother (Doris L) were alive today, she would be 107.  That’s hard to imagine.  It doesn’t seem that long ago that we were all together, but Doris died at Marinette General Hospital on April 24, 1986.  To the best of my knowledge, she uttered her last words to Peter and myself: “I’m grateful.”  That sums up a lot of Doris’ nature.  Here are some more memories that come to mind to me on Mother’s Day:  

• Doris had four kids: David (7/21/37), Steven (2/27/41), Peter (6/9/45), Vicki (2/24/47).
• My mom was very pretty and full of fun.  She was a teenager during the flapper era of the 1920’s, and I always thought that helped shape the course of her life.  
• When I was about 4 I attended a community theater performance at the Menominee Opera House, and, when the bouncy tiger appeared on the stage, I hollered at the top of my voice, “That’s my mommy.”  (Lots of laughter from the audience.)  
• Doris and Grace Fernstrum took Sally F. and myself sledding on numerous occasions at the Tourist Information Lodge with its big hill.   
• When we moved to the river Doris planted a luxurious garden along the west side of our lawn.
• Doris also planted a strawberry patch next to our driveway, and we gathered strawberries each morning to put on our cereal.  
• She and Vic travelled around Menominee County, finding wildflowers along the roadside to dig up and transplant on our property.  
• When the trillium first bloomed in the spring at Brewery Park, Doris made sure that each of her children in turn brought the flowers to Miss Elsie Guimond, our sixth grade teacher. 
• Doris stocked a bird feeder outside our dining room window and kept a written list of all the birds she saw.  When a red-winged blackbird appeared in our driveway, she called all the kids to come to the kitchen to see it. 
• My mom was an excellent cook.  Whitefish, pot roast, meatloaf, venison, duck, Swedish meatballs, and turkey are just some of the delicious highlights that come to mind.  Also strawberry shortcake. 
• All of our extended family came to our house on Xmas eve.  My bachelor uncle Karl brought extravagant gifts for Doris, Aunt Millie, and Aunt Martha (dresses, jewelry, etc.) as well as for the children. 
• Doris packed a picnic lunch for our family rowboat outings to Indian Island up the river.  
• Doris had many close female friends: Jean O’Hara, Florence Caley, Ruth Mars, Nan Jacobsen, Margaret St. Peter, Jackie Burke, Margaret Worth, Martina Steffke, and lots of others.  She and Vic entertained frequently: costume parties, art parties, poetry parties, jazz parties, and just plain parties.  They had a wonderful network of friends.  
• Doris was officially a member of the D.A.R., though she saw it as a pretty stodgy group and didn’t attend the meetings. 
• My mother loved jazz.  Her happiest moment that I can recall is when Louis Armstrong’s orchestra played at the Silver Dome, and Doris sat on the edge of the stage, just 3 or 4 feet from the master.
• My mom had a very deep voice which led to telephone callers frequently thinking that they had reached Mr. L.  She also got a deep tan in the summer, and my father claimed, tongue in cheek, that she was part Navaho. 
• After three boys, Doris was thrilled to have a girl in the family (my sister Vicki).  
• Doris had a lot of aphorisms for her children: “Don’t give up, don’t give in”; “Straighten up and fly right”; “Eat your beans, Suzy”; and many more 
• Doris was one of the best women golfers at Riverside Country Club, and she enjoyed horseback riding at the stables located at the intersection of Riverside Boulevard and Highway 577. 
• Doris smoked through much of her adult life and wound up having surgery for lung cancer.    
• She enjoyed drinking Silver Cream beer and chatting with house helper Hannah while Hannah did the ironing.  Their story-telling often took up the full afternoon
• Doris also loved going to the hairdresser where she would catch up with the community gossip.  
• Whenever we children went swimming, Doris sat in a lawn chair on the riverbank and kept a careful eye on us.  We weren’t allowed to go in the rowboat without lifesavers.    
• My mom loved our Irish setters, Mike and Micki.  One time when the dogs got into a nasty fight, she tried to break it up and wound up with a deep gash on her arm.
• Mike fell through the ice on the river in late winter, and Doris crawled out on her stomach to rescue him. 
• When my friend Marvin F. set a large box of kitchen matches on fire on our apartment living room floor, he was banished forever when my mother discovered the charred wood. 
• As a youth, I thought my mother was crazy at times, but, later in life, I discovered all mothers get crazy at times.  After one episode of particularly unruly children, I gave her a note that read, “Don’t give up, don’t give in — Try Wrecks-All” (a play on “Rexall”, our family drugstore name).  Doris broke into laughter and felt much better. 
• When my mom criticized my handwriting in ninth grade, I stopped writing in cursive for the rest of my life (except for my signature which is indecipherable).
• Doris was thrilled when Katja came for a visit during our sophomore year in college.  She told her that she was the first girl I’d ever brought home (which, of course, was true).
• Most of all, my mother had a warm, rich, spontaneous laugh, and we heard that every day of our childhood.

Love,

Dave

My Mom

Dear George,

Among my father's various eccentric sayings was the assertion that there's nothing worse in life than being a "Motherless Biccus".  I can't remember what a Biccus is, unless it might refer to my sister Vicki.  In any case, being Motherless is a dire fate since there's no one in the world that loves you in the way that your mother does.  My dad was also good at compiling a photographic record of our early family life.  I don't know if my childhood was as idyllic as it appears in these photos, but they do tap into a warm spot in my heart.

Love,

Dave

Mother's Day 2013

Katja with J’s flowers (5-11-13)

Dear George,

The delivery man just brought a beautiful Mother’s Day bouquet for Katja that J sent, and it made her beam with delight.  J has always been thoughtful about these things.  I wish I’d done more of that when I had the chance.  My mom died on April 24, 1986, at Marinette General Hospital.  We had some advance notice, and my siblings and I came in from around the country.  Peter and I were in her hospital room when she said her last words: “I’m grateful.”  That’s how mothers are.  My mom was by no means perfect, and I was difficult as a son.  A loss of one’s mother, though, is a powerful experience that takes a long time to recover from.  There’s such a primal connection between mother and child, and, I suspect for most people, there’s no one in one’s life who has such a deep attachment and lifelong sense of caring and concern.  There are many things I wish I’d expressed to my mother and many questions that I wish I’d asked.  However, we make do with what we do and try to learn from it.  Here are some of the wise, interesting, and/or humorous things that people have had to say about mothers:    

• "Every beetle is a gazelle in the eyes of its mother."  (Moorish proverb)
• "It's not easy being a mother.  If it were easy, fathers would do it."  (From the TV show, The Golden Girls)
• "Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all."  (Author Unknown)
• "Mothers are all slightly insane."  (J.D. Salinger)
• "Whenever I'm with my mother, I feel as though I have so spend the whole time avoiding land mines."  (Amy Tan)
• "My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it."  (Mark Twain)
• "Sweater, n.  Garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly."  (Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary)
• "She never quite leaves her children at home, even when she doesn't take them along."  (Margaret Culkin Banning)
• "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  (Ferrell Sims)
• "Don't ever tell the mother of a newborn that her baby's smile is just gas."  (Jill Woodhull)
• "The precursor of the mirror is the mother's face."  (D.W. Winnicott)
• "I felt my mother about the place.  I don't think she haunts me, but I wouldn't put it past her."  (Julie Walters)
• "I hope my tongue in prune juice smothers, If I belittle dogs and mothers."  (Ogden Nash)

Our family, of course, has many wonderful mothers, and that goes on across the generations.  Here are some of the mothers we know and love.  Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Love,

Dave

My mom Doris with my sister Vicki (ca. 1949)

Katja with J at Mt. Airy Forest (ca. 1972)

My sister-in-law Margie with Jennifer and J (ca. 1973)

My sister-in-law Faith with Chris (ca. 1978)

My sister Vicki with Jacob (ca. 1973) 

My daughter-in-law K with our grandson L (2012) 

G-mail Comments

-Phyllis S-S (5-12):  Dave,  Enjoyed this a lot.  Have a fun trip to New Orleans - I think you leave before the next Linton and we go to Canada that same day.  All the best,  Phyllis

-Gayle C-L (5-11):  Awesome photos.  Pl give Katya my love and wish her a happy Mother's Day from me!  Take care.    G.  

-Donna D (5-11):  This is really wonderful David :)

Thinking About My Mom On Mother's Day

Doris with Dave and lamb

Dear George,

We owe Mother’s Day to a woman named Anna Jarvis who was born in the tiny hamlet of Webster, West Virginia.  Her mother, Ann Maria, had founded Mothers’ Day Work Clubs in five cities to promote sanitary conditions and to feed and clothe Union and Confederate soldiers.  After her mother’s death in 1907, Anna embarked on a campaign to make “Mother’s Day” a recognized holiday, and her efforts resulted in Woodrow Wilson declaring it an official U.S. holiday in 1914.  It didn’t take long, though, for Anna to become fed up with the commercialization of Mother’s Day, and in the 1920’s she and her sister spent their family inheritance protesting against what the holiday had turned into.  Both died in poverty.  Embittered by so many people sending their mothers printed greeting cards, Anna said, “A printed card means nothing except that you are too lazy to write to the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world.  And candy!  You take a box to Mother – and then eat most of it yourself.  A pretty sentiment.”

Despite such misgivings, I always get nostalgic on Mother’s Day.  I’m sad that my mother is no longer alive and regret not saying to her many things that I might have.  People whose mothers are still living should relish the fact and take advantage of it.  Growing up in our family, the saddest thing we ever talked about  was being a “motherless biccus.”  No one knew exactly what this meant, but being motherless was clearly a dire state of affairs.  I spent some time this morning looking at photos of my mom, Doris L.  These were taken mostly by my dad but also a couple by my brother Peter.  Here are  a few memories in honor of Mother’s Day and of my mother in particular.      

Doris 

My mother was a quite striking beauty.  She grew up in Omaha in a one-child family, majored in French in college, and met my dad at the University of Wisconsin around 1929 or 1930.  She was a sorority girl, a horseback rider, and an excellent tennis player  Doris had a deep voice such that callers on the phone would frequently say, “Hello, Mr. L***”   She tanned darkly in the summer, and, even though she was a 100% Daughter of the American Republic, my dad joked that she was part American Indian. 

Doris and Vic

Doris and Vic married in 1932.  After a stint in Omaha, they returned to Menominee.  They led a most amazing life together.  They struggled to survive financially through the Great Depression.  When Katja and I married, my dad gave me a silver dollar that Doris and he had kept in a secret place during the late 1930’s in case they lost everything.  Then my mom raised Steven and myself while my dad was stationed in the Pacific theater during World War II.  The fifties got better.  

Family photo at YMCA camp (circa 1950)

Doris was a wife, mother, homemaker, and social hostess; Vic, a Menominee lawyer and prosecuting attorney.  She gave birth to four kids: Dave (1937), Steve (1941), Peter (1945), and Vicki (1947).  In most families we knew the men were breadwinners and the women raised the children.  With four children in our family, it wasn’t an easy task.  Here we all are at family visitation day at the YMCA camp near Green Bay.   

With Vicki

After three boys, Doris was completely thrilled to have a daughter, and she lavished special attention on Vicki.   While the boys presented more problems, I think that Doris worried the most about Vicki and devoted herself to bringing her up properly.    

Doris with Steve and Dave at River House

From 1946 on our family lived in a house made of Norway pine on the Menominee River.  My mother loved that house and its surroundings: the summer sunsets, the trees and wildflowers, the river and its view, even the snowy winters.  She stocked a bird feeder outside the dining room window daily and called us excitedly if a cardinal or a red-winged blackbird appeared in the driveway. 

Uncle Karl, Aunt Millie, Thor, and Uncle Kent

Doris and Vic made Xmas a special occasion in our household.  Our extended family would gather on Xmas eve, along with visits by friends.  Vic’s twin brothers Karl and Kent and Kent’s family, along with my aunt Martha, Uncle Ralph, and their kids came every year.  We children would be at a fever pitch in anticipation of Santa’s pending visit.  Doris was an excellent cook, and she would prepare a big dinner of turkey or ham or even a goose.  The adults would get a little tipsy after a couple of Jim Beams on the rocks. 

Vicki and Micky at Mike’s grave

We had two Irish Setters in our childhood, and Doris adored the dogs.  When Mike fell through the river ice one winter, Doris commanded the children to stay in the house, and we watched out the living room window as she crawled out on the ice on her stomach and pulled the dog to safety.  On another occasion Mike and Micky got into a vicious fight, and Doris sustained a deep gash in her hand when she got in the middle to break up the fight.  

Friends at hunting camp in Cedar River (Doris second from left)

Doris and Vic lived their whole adult lives in Menominee, and they had a wonderful friendship   group there.  My mom was very sociable and enjoyed nothing more than gatherings with their close friends.  At the Worth’s hunting camp, we kids would go off in the forest while the parents hung out, drank beer and smoked, and talked and talked. 

Swedes at the costume party

Doris, Vic, and their friends had many parties, and often these were theme parties, e.g., centered on art, poetry, music, theater, etc.  Costume parties were the best.  Here are some Swedish warriors who, despite their beards, are actually my parents.   

Doris and Jean

Jean O’Hara was Doris’ best friend, and our families spent a lot of time together.  The moms spent a lot of time cooking and talking in the kitchen while their husbands debated politics and Notre Dame football in the living room.  

Doris and Dave on the Green Bay shore

The O’Hara’s lived on Green Bay, and we spent a lot of time swimming there.  Usually Doris sat in a lawnchair on the shore, keeping a watchful eye on her children.  I still have a vivid memory of walking alone into the bay at around age 6 till the water got up to my neck, then completely panicking and screaming for my mother to save me.  She did, and I got a lifelong lesson in why mothers are so important.

Doris and Steve at the art museum

U.P. towns like Menominee were small and fairly isolated, but they were in driving distance of Milwaukee and Chicago.  Doris and Vic took us on regular forays there, and visits to the Chicago Art Institute were an annual part of our childhood education.  

Family reunion

My mother was distressed when her kids reached young adulthood and scattered all over the country – Vicki in California, Steve in Washington State, my family in Cincinnati, and Peter in multiple places from L.A. to Toronto to New York City.  My parents insisted that we all convene each August in Menominee, and these were wonderful occasions.  Here are Doris and Vic at the foot of the willow tree in our front yard at River House, with various children and grandchildren up in the tree.       

                  

With Aggie at Farm

In the mid-1970’s Doris and Vic moved into a farmhouse that they had renovated in the Birch Creek area.  Farm was an immense source of gratification to them in their later years.  Here’s Doris with Aggie, one of their several dogs during this period.  Though Aggie was a rather hyper dog that killed their pet goose in the front yard, Doris remained emotionally attached to her nonetheless. 

Lovey

When Puff, my parent’s last dog, was killed by a passing car, a friend gave Doris a white cat named Lovely.  Though she’d been a dog person all her life, Doris bonded completely with Lovey and spent many hours petting her at the living room window.

Doris and Vic leaving Farm

My mother’s last years were difficult.  She’d had two bouts of lung cancer, and she had difficulty walking because of being in constant pain.  She pretty much gritted her teeth and rarely complained to others.  Peter and I were with her in her hospital room on the last day of her life, and she said to us, “I’m grateful.”  I think those were probably her last words.  Even at death’s door, my mother’s inclination was to be considerate to others.  

Doris laughing, with Vicki and Peter

More than anything else, what I remember about my mother was her laughter.  She had an ever-present sense of humor and impressed upon us the importance of fun in one’s life.  Of the four of us kids, I think that Steven learned that lesson the best.  But Doris knew more about having fun than any of her offspring.  That makes me happy.  

Love,

Dave

G-mail Comments

-Kiera O (5-16):  O, my, David. Such a feeling of richness I have upon concluding the Mother's Day installment of your blog. Thank you.

-David W (5-13): wonderful entry David!!! So funny-i had a dream last night night that you and I were hunting alligators which were chasing us all over this swampy area-funny and horrifying.  Take care.    david

Local News: Mother Love Runs Amok

                               Barbara Jolly, Mom & Bank Robber

Dear George,

 

In our culture we lump motherhood along with God, country, and apple pie under the umbrella category of all that is good, pure, and virtuous.  Though we don’t think of mothering as a simple act, we normally construe it as an unfettered outpouring of love, caring, and support.  This view, of course, reflects a cultural stereotype that bears no resemblance to everyday reality.  One of the startling shocks of new parenthood is the discovery that parenting can be aggravating, boring, even painful, and can generate anger and depression as well as happiness or contentment.  Even full-fledged devotion to one’s children, under given circumstances, can generate destructive behavior toward third parties seen as inimical to one’s offspring, e.g., teachers, neighbors, bullying kids, nasty relatives, etc.  I’ve been struck by this with a spat of recent news stories in the Cincinnati Enquirer which seem to point to an epidemic of loving mothers running amok.  Here are a few instances. 

 

What can be more tender and devoted, for example, than the act of breastfeeding one’s infant.  Well, just tell that to Genene Compten, 39, of Harrison Township who was recently arrested and charged with child endangering when she was breastfeeding her child and talking on a cell phone while driving.  Like any good mother would be, Ms. Compten was outraged by the police’s accusations. She let them know that she is not the sort of mother who would ever deprive her child when it is hungry, whatever the circumstances.   And she defiantly claims that she will feed and drive whenever her baby requires it.  The police argued in vain that the problem was not public breastfeeding but placing the child’s health and safety at risk, but Ms. Compten would hear nothing of it.

 

For many moms, sticking up for one’s child extends into young adulthood and beyond.  Deidra Roget’s 22-year-old son Dmitri, like any red-blooded kid might do, got involved in a fight at Annie’s nightclub, took a shot at the other guy, and then pointed his pistol at a policeman.  The police officer, in response, fired 11 times at Dmitri, shooting him in the butt and the foot.  Appearing at the courthouse in her son’s behalf, Ms. Roget went berzerk, and she wound up being arresting for assaulting a police officer, obstructing official business, resisting arrest, and disorderly conduct.  Despite this mom’s loving and heartfelt efforts to support and protect her son, an uncaring judge sent him to prison for 13 years anyway.

 

Mothers don’t just give emotional support, but they often need to provide material resources as well.  When one’s finances are limited, being a good mother may require actions that society would otherwise frown upon.  A good example is the recent case of  Patricia Clottingham, 48.  Charged with stealing $45,000 from her health care employer, Mrs. Clottingham got a new bookkeeping job in order to repay the stolen cash.  She succeeded in making the repayments by stealing $1.2 million from her new employer.  Mrs. Clottingham was imprecise about where the money went, but her lawyer said much of it was for miscellaneous things, such as limousine rides for her children and renovation of her children’s homes.  We might wonder about Mrs. Clottingham’s methods, but no one can dispute this bottomless fount of maternal love.

 

Embezzlement is a preferred technique when you can do it, but, if one doesn’t have ready access to a pile of cash through their job, devoted moms need to resort to more direct methods.  A local area mother, Barbara Jolly, 68, of Middletown gained considerable press attention, if not acclaim, when she was convicted for a string of bank robberies in Warren and Butler counties.  Because her 39-year-old son Christopher had lost his job, she sent him a total of $200,000 from her and her husbands’ retirement savings.  When her husband finally balked at this, Mrs. Jolly turned to bank robberies.  Mr. Jolly explained, “She is a loving grandmother who simply could not say ‘no’ to our son’s pleas for more and more financial help.”   Prior to taking up bank robbery, Mrs. Jolly’s main avocations were stitching quilts for the homeless, attending church, and volunteering at school festivals.  To date she has been sentenced to sixteen years in prison.  I hope she will be nominated for Prison Mother of the Year.

 

Sometimes mother love can even create conflict with one’s life partner.  The extremes of good motherhood made front page news when Cheryl McCaugherty, 44, called 911 to report that she had shot her husband Robert between the eyes, apparently while he was sleeping.  Robert was the likable V.P. of a medical supply company, Cheryl was a successful advertising executive at the Enquirer, and they were generally regarded as a perfect couple in their wealthy Fort Thomas community.  The prosecutor claimed that Ms. Cafferty had absconded with thousands of her husband’s money to pay for her daugher’s modeling lessons.   Ms. McCaugherty’s lawyer, on the other hand, said her husband had threatened to kill their 12 and 15 year old children, and that her action was a case of self-defense and protection of her children.  The jury, swayed by Ms. McCaugherty’s maternal devotion, found her guilty of a lesser charge of manslaughter.

 

What are we to make of this?  It’s always a little discomforting when mothers need to lie, cheat, steal, stab, shoot, and murder in order to promote their children’s well-being.  But it’s like the old book title says, “Love is Not Enough.”  We need to recognize that the world is a complex place, and that mothers, to defend and nurture their little ones, sometimes have to engage in actions that may have less than desirable side effects upon others.  I myself feel a bit of relief when I realize that my mom probably would have murdered a few people for me if the need had arisen.

 

Love,

Dave

Gmail Comments:

-JML (8-12): Hey Dad, Here in new orleans we had a case last year in which a 15 year old got into a fistfight while playing basketball. He went home crying to his mom and she gave him a handgun with instructions to teach them a lesson.  He then proceeded to shoot one of the bullies to death.  She's now in prison for accessory to murder. 

Mother's Day

                                   Mayme, Rebekah, Donna

Dear George,

 

J and K sent Katja a beautiful bouquet for Mothers’ Day, and they had an early Sunday morning phone conversation filled with laughter and love.  Katja was thrilled.  She loves flowers and being remembered. As we started to get ourselves together for the day, Katja said she was out of bacon.  I said I’d go to the grocery store, but she actually wasn’t that interested in cooking her own Mothers’ Day breakfast.  We drove first to the Frisch’s on Central Parkway, but the overflowing parking lot indicated that all the mothers in Clifton were being celebrated at once.  Instead we drove over to the Spring Grove Frisch’s which has fewer nearby mothers and always empty tables.  As is our routine, Katja had french toast and sausage patties, and I made three trips to the breakfast bar.   As we chatted, I said that having a child was the best thing we’d ever done, and Katja (as the person who actually had had the child) said absolutely.

 

After breakfast we drove over to Spring Grove Cemetery to stop by Helen’s and Buck’s grave.  As we drove through the gates, Katja noted that J and K were going later that day to a second line parade.  I had learned what the second line is on a recent trip to New Orleans, and I started to tell her about it.  After a sentence or two, I started to choke up.  I tried to say more, and the tears started flowing.  I cried and cried as I struggled to get the words out.  I still don’t know what that was all about.  Apparently some mix of  funerals and graves, dead parents, our children far away, Mothers’ Day, and the sheer poignancy of the second line itself.

 

Katja wondered aloud if she might plant a rose bush next to her parents’ gravestone.  I thought the cemetery wouldn’t allow it.  We were pleased to see that the cemetery workers had placed protective slats across the ivy growing on their plot.  Their gravestone included an image of intertwined wedding rings and their wedding date.  Looking at the birthdates, I’d forgotten that Helen had lived to 89 and Buck to 88, and I thought to myself that Katja still has many years to go.  We joked about her folks staring down upon the gigantic crucifix at the bottom of the hill.  Katja said she was happy about her parents’ decision not to be buried in a segregated Jewish cemetery.  We stood in silence for a while, lost in our separate thoughts.

 

After the cemetery, we went to Rahn’s Greenhouse to see if they’d yet gotten a companion hanging flower pot for the one Katja had bought on Saturday.  They hadn’t, but on our way out we were approached by a woman holding onto a handsome boxer dog.  She was a dog rescue person, and she had found this particular dog running free on Spring Grove Avenue without a collar.  She surmised that it had been abandoned, and she was seeking for a good home.  Mothers’ Day at the greenhouse was probably a promising time and place to find potential adopters.  The dog was friendly and sweet and looked as though it had been well cared for.  As we drove out of the parking lot, both Katja and I independently expressed a wish to take the abandoned dog home with us.  Fortunately we realized that this idea amounted to total insanity.

 

Sophie, Mike and Duffy’s younger sister, was visiting at our house for the weekend, so I took the three sheepdogs on a walk down Ludlow Avenue.  I intended to take them over to Dunore Park, but, when we crossed the street, they literally dragged me down the side street to Rosie’s house.  Matt answered my knock on the door and asked if I thought he should bring Rosie out.  Rosie is a tiny dog compared to the sheepdogs, but she can definitely hold her own, so I said yes.  We chatted a bit, and then Jennifer arrived back home from the grocery store.  She was enjoying her own Mothers’ Day, with the children having cooked breakfast for her.  Matt started talking about Star Trek when suddenly Rosie took off like a bolt of lightning, running to the neighbor’s lawn and disappearing behind the house.  Jennifer observed what a good runner Rosie is.  Matt ran next door to retrieve her, but unfortunately, he had no luck – Rosie had vanished.  Jennifer was nonplussed and said she’d find her.  The three dogs and I accompanied her up the block. We called out Rosie’s name at each house, but there was no Rosie to be found.  Matt in the meantime got in their car and set out in the opposite direction.  I was upset, feeling partially responsible for this catastrophe, but Jennifer remained relaxed about it all.  We turned onto Evanswood at the end of the long block, and moments later Jennifer spotted Rosie in the arms of one of their friends’ children several houses up the street.  She called out, and Rosie came running down the sidewalk as fast as she could.  Jennifer smiled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  How could she be sure this would work out?

 

Sophie was visiting our house because Donna and her 86-year-old mom, Mayme, had driven a hundred miles to Louisville to have lunch with Donna’s daughter Rebekah (who herself had driven up 175 miles from Nashville).  I’d said to Donna that I thought it was too far to drive for lunch, but, of course, I was wrong.  A family reunion trip by three generations of women added a lot of significance to the day.  On their way back home Donna and Mayme stopped by our house to pick up Sophie.  Mayme is pretty frail, and the three sheepdogs jumped all over her as they walked up our back steps.  I grabbed the  dogs by the collars to pull them away, and Donna was angrily protective of her mom.  We sat in the solarium, chatted about their trip, and looked at pictures on the digital camera of the three dogs that I’d taken in the forest.  Because Katja and I no longer have mothers, I sometimes view Mayme as a substitute mother, and I felt good about having her at our house on Mothers’ Day.  Taking a big car trip is no easy thing for an older person, and we were proud that she’d pulled it off successfully.   She said that winding up at our house was one of the highlights of the day, and that made us feel good.

 

Katja and I had a quiet evening.  We each missed our mothers on this special day, though we agreed that there was a certain relief in being beyond the stage of caring for aged parents.  (Katja noted, though, that we don’t care for aged parents because we are the aged parents.)  All in all, Mothers’ Day had been an evolving mix of rambunctious dogs, present and lost moms, and strong emotions all rolled up together.  We thought about Donna and Mayme, and Jennifer and her kids, and all the other mothers of our family (Katja, K, Susan, Vicki, Margie, Faith, Rhys, Kazandra, Jennifer, Hilary, Linda, Jayme), and, most of all, Katja’s mother, Helen, and my mother, Doris.  At our life stage, Mothers’ Day is a day of loss more than anything else.  While both of our mothers were complicated and sometimes difficult characters, there is nevertheless no one in the world to whom one matters as much as one’s mother, and her loss leaves a void that can never be filled. It’s not an easy thing to be motherless.  I guess that’s why I had cried a lot.

 

Love,

Dave