Why can’t Mother’s Day be easy and a little magical like Ground Hog Day?
I am on my way to Annapolis to visit my Mom, speculating on the cost/benefit ratio of the holiday, as an SUV with driver and an immense bouquet of flowers strapped as co-pilot in the passenger seat, weaves in front of me and through traffic, him doing 90.
On Ground Hog Day you are not penalized by a sense of guilt if you don’t actually observe a specific ground hog and whether or not she sees her shadow. You are not penalized if you forget about the holiday altogether. But there is special added value to the day in that prophesy is being made. If she sees her shadow you get six more weeks of winter.
On Ground Hog Day you are not penalized by a sense of guilt if you don’t actually observe a specific ground hog and whether or not she sees her shadow. You are not penalized if you forget about the holiday altogether. But there is special added value to the day in that prophesy is being made. If she sees her shadow you get six more weeks of winter.
Believe it. They’ll talk about it on the local news that night.
As a mother, I’d like to have this power of prophesy that ground hogs possess. How about, if I see my shadow on Mother’s Day my daughter will receive an unexpected gift in the following six weeks. She could be anticipating this with pleasure, even if she’d just noticed it was sunny that day and thought of me, poking my head out of my abode and walking slowly, squinting, into the front yard. Every day she could be aware that a gift was about to arrive. And it would arrive. Life is funny that way.
My Mom rolled slowly through the doorway of her apartment curved over her walker, eyes peering cautiously. Pretty as always, this time in lavender jacket and pants, a pink flower provided by staff, drooping just a little bit from one lapel, she was looking for me. I had called to tell her I was coming but she was maybe a tiny bit shocked to see my sister and brother-in-law also waiting for her in her apartment.
We chatted gently for an hour, my sister and I each hemming a pair of new pants that mother couldn’t wear because they were too long. I’d purposely come down early to raid her closet while she was at lunch so we could work on them. Otherwise it would have been “No no no. I’ve got plenty of pants. I don’t need you to do that.” She still said it but it was too late. We had pants in hand.
We each brought flowers and stories about what was happening in our lives . . . questions for her. There was some laughter, mostly because my sister is a very funny woman, but probably Mom didn’t follow much of that in spite of the fact that she’d been forced to unplug her ears and fork over her hearing aids for examination. As usual she was wearing them with either no batteries or dead ones.
Mom loves the fact that she can hear once they’re powered up. We can tell this by the expression of amazement and delight on her face as the world comes back into auditory focus for her, but always, she is adamant that she doesn’t want us messing with them and coaxing them away from her has become an art form. You can’t sneak up on them like you can the pants. Every time it’s the same.
We were only there an hour and a half and the affection we felt was palpable but I’m sure Mom was exhausted by the time we left.
I saw my shadow.
Back at home I was visited by my own dear girl and her gigantic, hairy, musical darling boy, my 17 year old grandson. There’s always an instrument around his neck, or handy, and music pours off him like water. She brought two bottles of malbec and a card. Such a good girl.
We three are always happy together. I had provided all the materials for ‘The Pepsi Challenge’ because the last time we had convened there was a vociferous discussion about the relative merits of Coke versus Pepsi; each of us believing we could tell them apart. In fact, only I could do so when put to the test, and the pleasure that gave me would have been Mother’s Day gift enough. Do you think they let me win?
Nah.
My daughter read out loud an article on altruism from the March 5th issue of the New Yorker while the boy and the old lady duked it out over a game of Chinese checkers. This rivalry has been going on for years. I won, by one move, after he generously let me go first; a fact he was quick to point out when I won. Did I mention I won?
At the end of the long article, we were all relieved to hear that scientists now, for the most part agree, what makes us human is the fact that we are shaped by both the genetic imperative to co-operate for the good of the group and to compete selfishly for our own good. Among all the species, we are stuck in between the urge for altruistic action and the killer instinct of unmitigated competition. What a surprise.
We listened to Knut Bell ‘Wicked, Ornry, Mean and Nasty”and Billie and Dede Pierce, ‘Blues and Tonks from the Delta’ and my grandson played accompaniment. We all kept time to the beat. It was impossible not to.
I gave my daughter a hand rub. She works so hard. We were happy. We were content but the mothers were exhausted. What was that about altruism? Something connected to genetics.
Okay, maybe he didn’t let me win but he did let me go first. Pretty altruistic for a 17 year old.
I gave my daughter a hand rub. She works so hard. We were happy. We were content but the mothers were exhausted. What was that about altruism? Something connected to genetics.
Okay, maybe he didn’t let me win but he did let me go first. Pretty altruistic for a 17 year old.
I believe we’ll have six weeks of good weather and I am right. Because today is drizzling grey and I’ve got sunshine. In my prayers, I’m sending that sunshine to my Mom.
