Mothers Day 2014

I think of my mother on Mother’s Day. She’s long gone but her effects on me were profound. Although we fought often during my adolescence, I realize now I’m more like her than I once thought.  Our minds’ worked similarly. We had trouble being specific.

As a boy I depended on her for everything. She was a single Mom. During adolescence- all bets were off.  I listened to nothing she said. I had an attitude of disturbing proportions.  In mid-life, I began thinking of her and saw her differently. It was the little things about her, not the big ones I’d recall mostly. I suspect that the greater things are contained in the smaller one’s, anyway.

I grew up in the late 1930’ and 40’s.  Then childhood sicknesses and injuries were treated primitively.  Only crises sent folks to doctors. Mothers served as both doctor and nurse.

             

I grew up in the era of castor oil, cod liver oil, mustard plasters, iodine and alcohol for cuts and scrapes. Consuming raw liver was popular for treating anemia as was downing raw eggs for increasing energy. Dr. Poulten removed a cyst from my ear with no anesthesia and dentists filled my teeth the same way.  Enemas were popular for treating most GI disturbances.  Sickness kept you from school although its costs often outweighed benefits.

Mother was comforting but occasionally administered frightening treatments. During mumps, she slathered a greasy salve on my swollen glands.  It was black, smelled like insecticide with the consistency of axel grease. I felt like a crankshaft.

           

However, my mother read me books when I was sick. I liked that. That’s when I first began to love stories. I still hear her voice in those stories.

Mother’s explanation for any treatment intervention was formulaic. Why did I have to take castor oil, or be slathered with salve? She would only reply – “it’s good for what ails you.”

 Had she said, “doctor’s orders”, truth is I would have found that explanation less credible than her statement “it’s good for what ails you.” Her comment spoken confidently, although nebulous, assured me that all ills originated from a single cause so that any treatment she administered with an “it’s good for what ails you” seemed proper. For mother’s home remedies, one size fit all.  Her’s made me feel safe. Predictability is comforting.

My mother was a skillful cook. My wife once asked her how she made broccoli soup. "Oh, a little bit of seasoning, some butter, a dash of cream" and on she'd go. She was fudging, guarding her recipe, I thought.  I see it differently now. Mothers are, above all, intuitive. They may not be able to articulate just how they handle things but to most challenges they intuit successful solutions.  No recipes, diagnostic manuals or psychology degrees are required: for Mom, it’s all about winging it. What she did carried the day. Explanations remained vague.

Mother’s out there on the Shore: I wish you at least one phone call, tweet, email, flowers or dinner on Mother’s day from your kids. For mom’s long gone, sons and daughters, send them thoughts of loving-kindness.