Notes from Maine - 2022/05/08
Today is Mother’s Day in almost 100 countries. Ireland, Nigeria, the UK, and a few others observed back on March 27. March 8 and March 21 are celebrated in another bunch of countries. Out in the barn, I gave the little sweet filly a carrot and whispered for her to give it to her mom. She went over to Maybelle—I heard some suspicious crunching, but I have to assume that she gave the carrot to her mother. In the next stall over, Earl poked his head around, but everyone yelled at him to stay out of it. Father’s day isn’t until next month.
My sister reminded me yesterday that we used to be poor. Not, like, dirt floor and no shoes poor, but definitely struggling. After my parents got divorced, Mom struggled to pay the bills and keep us all fed. She was working three jobs and picking up extra money on the side with odd jobs. I remember celebrating a seven cent raise that she got at one of her jobs. She received a commendation from the Washington Post for delivering newspapers during a blizzard. It didn’t take long for her to work her way into a good paying job working for the County. They recognized her drive, conscientiousness, and talent and soon she was doing fine again.
But, for a while, we had home-baked bread, homemade bathing suits, and powdered milk. Actually, I think some of those things (if not all) predated when we were “poor.” Mom was (and still is) incredibly cheap. Even when she was still together with Dad, and they had a decent income, she excelled at finding ways to save. Then, after the divorce, I think she enjoyed the challenge of holding everything together with very little income. I never remember her complaining, but maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.
There are a ton of details from that time that are lost forever. I’m curious about the friendships that she dissolved during that era, and how other relationships came about. Mom doesn’t remember. She had an accident twenty years ago where she hit her head. In her opinion, many of her memories were lost in that trauma. But, my memory is somewhat intact and what I remember is that Mom was always good at “forgetting” things that she didn’t want to know. I’m not judging. Sometimes the only way to move forward is to black out what’s behind you. When she was here recently, she discovered a box of photos that she had put together for me at one point. They were of my childhood. Going through them, she was able to piece together some details that had slipped her mind.
In all honesty, some of those details slipped my mind as well. I suppose I’m not bad at “forgetting” too. Aside from my sister, I don’t have much of a relationship with any contemporaries from that time. My brother is 5.5 years older. Grade school is a complete blur. At least I thought it was. A few weeks ago, my sister invited over one of our old friends from then. She was in my grade, but she and her sister were friends with Cynthia. Standing on the deck, talking about those old times, names and events surfaced from the darkness. It was interesting, if not exactly fun. I self-isolated in grade school—pushing the world away until it was just a movie playing in another room.
I remember one time coming home. I must have been in first or second grade. Mom said, “Did you have a special visitor today?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Winnie-the-Pooh?” she asked.
“Oh yeah.” A giant Winnie-the-Pooh mascot had visited up for some reason. Its ears wiggled.
“Did Winnie give you a big hug?”
“I don’t know. I guess,” I said.
Of course, Winnie was Mom. She also played a witch who showed up and frightened everyone at Halloween. I was always informed later about her costumed visits. I never figured it out for myself.
If you’re in one of the 96 countries celebrating Mother’s Day today, I hope you have a happy one. If not, I hope it’s just a good Sunday.
