musings about my mother

Before May is gone and another Mother's Day is completely forgotten......there are lots of things my children will never know about my mother. She died at 55 years of age in 1993.  Andrew was 6 and Katie was 4. By that time she was in considerable pain from cancer.   Her manic/depressive/bi-polar tendencies had made it nearly impossible to visit without some serious mood altering drugs.  For me.  But there was a time when she was not like that, at least not to me. She was funny and clever and terribly creative.  Sometimes when I'm just sitting and thinking about her the good stuff just fills my soul.

Things they should know:

Back in the early 70's my mother embroidered skull and crossbones on to the leather motorcycle jackets of the rather interesting biker boys/men in our neighborhood.  I believe Tindal was the last name.  She always had a heart for the misunderstood. More than once gifts magically appeared at our house.  Stereo speakers the size of refrigerators, stereos, lawn mowers, a goat.  I still don't understand that one. The boys adored her. 

My father came home to a tent that was erected in our living room because one of the bikers and his 16 year old girlfriend had been thrown our of their home. Mom felt so bad for them. My father not so much. He was not happy but did let them stay for a night.  Years later a bearded homeless looking guy approached our car smiling and waving.  I was mortified.  My mother on the other hand recognized him as the kid that once lived in our living room.  He still thought she was an angel.  ( of course she nearly shot him that time, yes, she carried a weapon).

My mom let the FBI set up surveillance in her basement to help catch a drug dealer that lived next door.  She help keep detailed notes- INCLUDING documenting a leopard that she saw living in the house protecting the upstairs.  When the drug house caught on fire she ran outside and cut up our water hose and was majorly pissed off when one of the other neighbors called the fire department.  She was willing to testify in court against this scumbag.  Fortunately it never came to that.

At a horse show she single-handedly took on a man that she saw beating  his horse with a tire-iron after he'd lost a race. Not one other person in the stands would say anything.  She threatened him within an inch of his life in front of the entire crowd.  I think she gave that horse courage.  A few months later that same horse  put his hooves through the back of the truck window he was being hauled in killing the man that had beaten him. 

She was abused by a catholic brother when she was just a teenager.  Something she never talked about until I found photos of her that were cut up.  They had been taken by the brother as "art".  She had told her parents who did not believe her.    I did.  This also explained her love/hate relationship with God/men/churches in general.

She could paint scenes on rice.  And knit thread with toothpicks.  She spun "wool" out of her dogs hair. She could make her own clothes from patterns she drew herself.

She was an excellent bowler who regularly beat any man who mistook her as a beauty only.  They always wanted her on their team for her looks.  But she always beat them first.  She taught herself to bowl left-handed because she thought it was better to teach left-handed students by knowing how herself.

She taught herself to ride horses and play golf.  Both things my father quit the day she beat him at it.  Including the bowling. 

She raised an abandoned newborn German shepherd puppy because someone had brought it to the vet to be put down when the mother dog gave birth in their yard running from something.  She bottle-fed him.  He was the runt.  He grew up to be HUGE and was a devoted protector of the man she gave him to. 

She was pretty good shot with a gun.  She hunted and fished and taught me how clean both a squirrel and any fish.. Though she wouldn't hunt deer. 

Once my father became interested in antique clocks and traded our Shetland pony , Silver, for a clock.  My mother found out about it and went and got the pony back.  Silver had been owned by the Dr. Pepper Company.  My mother could get him to kneel, roll-over, pray , count ,and pick out Dr. Peppers in a line up.  She'd then let him drink it out of the bottle.

She cooked pies in the middle of the night. 

She could put a dead stick in the ground and it would take root.  Our house was always surrounded by blooming plants and a vegetable gardens.  I still have the rose catalog where she hand drew the layout of every single rosebush in our backyard.  Flowers loved her.  They bloomed for her. Even when we lived in Texas where there was nothing but red clay and tumbleweeds she had garden.

Once while playing at my friend's  house and my mom was visiting with my friend's mom an uncle walked in. He was visiting from Italy. After an evening of good food , wine and laughter he offered her anything she wanted if she'd be his mistress.  She laughed and said she was flattered but no thank you.  He let the offer stand.   She had that effect on men.  She looked like Tippi Hendren and Doris Day ( the early years) with a Carol Burnett/Lucille Ball sense of humor.

She had a huge laugh.         

She was funny.  And I miss her.                     Miss you mom.

Carolyn about 1964.  Before she went blonde.