Here's part of an essay I wrote about her final Thanksgiving.
**
Thanksgiving was my mother’s favorite holiday. I remember her last one. The four of us (my sisters and me) and our spouses and my dad are there with her in the living room of my parents’ New York apartment.
My mother is presiding from a sofa that was moved there from their house in Beverly Hills to this apartment on the upper East Side of Manhattan. Once upholstered in a shiny red-and-green floral print that felt cool against my face, it’s there that my mother read the Oz books to me after dinner when I was growing up. Now in their bright, modern condominium, the sofa had been re-covered in white linen.
I can still see my mother sitting there, nearly lost in a billowing gold brocade caftan. Her hair is, as always, short and brushed briskly away from her face. She smells, as always, of Eve Arden face cream, cigarettes, and Scotch whiskey.
Her cheeks are flushed and full, and she seems at first to be in the pink of health. But closer up, her face is puffy, the skin reddened with broken blood vessels. Her hair is thin. Her grey eyes rheumy. She seems at once paunchy and emaciated. A cigarette trembles between her fingers. She’s too weak to even stand and will retire to her bed before we sit down to eat.
A writer, first and foremost, her hands have always been her pride, the fingers short, stubby, and efficient, the nails cut short so as not to interfere with her typing. Thanksgiving was one of her annual days of domesticity, even if it was hired help who set the table, cooked and served the meal, and cleaned up after.
Even at that last Thanksgiving there was an elaborate centerpiece for the table – a riot of pineapple, eggplant, persimmon, nuts, and grapes. Two turkeys, three pies, three kinds of stuffing.
Not only did she have to be a successful lady writer but she had to run a perfect home and raise perfect children. And Thanksgiving, even her last one, was the time for that perfection to shine.
**
Do you have memories of a lost loved one, no longer with us, but whose memory pops up during the holidays?
This is so touching, Hallie . . . there certainly seems to be something about holidays that trigger those memories of times spent with our loved ones . . . I know my own memories of sharing those special times with my mom are particularly strong during the holidays . . . .
ReplyDeleteI think it's the smells that trigger the most vivid memories.
DeleteWhat a lovely essay, Hallie. My mother is the one whose memory always comes to mind during the holidays. One that always makes me smile is how she would set up up at the table with bags of slightly stale bread and order me to break it up into a roasting pan for stuffing. Looking back, I realize it was also her way of getting me out of the kitchen and out from under her feet while letting me be helpful.
ReplyDeleteBags of stale-ish bread! And I'll bet it was good.
DeleteVery touching. I loved Thanksgiving, making bread stuffing with my mother, and being in charge of three pies with my sister.
ReplyDeleteThe saddest one was at my grandparents' house a couple of towns away (San Marino). My grandmother Dot, a lifelong smoker, had had several serious strokes and was in her bedroom at the back. As my grandfather said grace at the table, he began to sob. I'd never seen him cry (or my father, either). It broke my heart.
That's so sad... and lovely at the same time.
DeleteI do have memories that pop up of loved ones during the holidays.
ReplyDeleteMy grandfather, stoic Irishman that he was still bright and upbeat during the last Christmas that we had with him. It was pretty well "known" that it would likely be his last one. His health was failing and even though there had been scattered absences the last few years by one family member or another, everyone made sure to be there for what indeed turned out to be his last one.
My grandmother, who as she got older refused to let anyone buy her gifts anymore. For a few years I was the only exception. Then even that was not allowed. When she told us that she didn't want ANY presents the following year, the family balked. And then my grandmother said, "Unless you are going to give me $1000 dollars, I don't want or need anything. And my family chose to look at that as a challenge. So every adult member of the family kicked in a share and then my uncle went to area banks before Xmas the following year. And on Xmas Eve, I presented my grandmother her gift. It was a box filled with exactly what she "asked" for. Yep, it was 1,000 one dollar bills. She was still with us for a number of years after that of course, but that's the memory that comes up the most in telling stories of family Xmas storytelling lore the most.
My dad's last Christmas wasn't especially memorable. He was sick with cancer but was still "okay" as in coherent and able to participate. What made it memorable was Archer Mayor had a new Joe Gunther novel out and I got it for him for a present. He was never able to read it. He actually willed his Archer Mayor books to a next door neighbor who was, like him, originally from Vermont. But I refused to give the books over until I read ST. ALBAN'S FIRE. My quote, "I paid (whatever the dollar figure was) for the book and I'll be damned if that book is leaving this house until someone has read it!" Before that book, I'd never read Archer Mayor's work but I got hooked and now have a re-assembled collection of all the Joe Gunther novels.
My mom's last Christmas was also the last Christmas that we did the extended family gathering on Xmas Eve at my aunt's house. There was always some kind of theme to the event and I think that last one was when we had to come dressed as our favorite Christmas character. Not a big thing really but since she passed before Thanksgiving the following year, I do remember how missing out on the two big holidays with her sucked so much.
For less depressing memories, there's the ones from childhood. We three kids would wake up but we had to stay in our rooms until my parents got up and got started. My dad would go out into the kitchen and start coffee. My mom would do stuff like make sure everything was arranged still and put on some Christmas music. And then, clad in our PJs, slippers and bathrobes we would have to walk out backwards and then we got the OK to turn around into our Christmas morning presents wonderland.
DeleteMy uncle was notorious for doing great and/or funny things. Of course, he spent years dressing up as Santa for the younger kids at the Xmas Eve gathering so that was always fun. But it is his humor that I remember most (he's still alive!)
When the original Rainbow Brite doll line came out, the sidekick characters were called Sprites. One of my cousins said she wanted one for Christmas. She said, "I want a Sprite for Christmas" with that exact wording. So my uncle, terror that he is, got her exactly what she said...except it was a 2-liter bottle of Sprite soda. The look on my cousin's face was hilarious in retrospect but man she was horrified. Well, until he pulled out her actual present.
Another funny one was the first year my aunt and uncle hosted a foreign exchange student. She was from The Netherlands and obviously they do Xmas different there. So she was unprepared for my uncle's sense of humor. When he laid out all the Xmas gifts from him that year, each package had a label that said what was "supposedly" inside. What did her package say? "Underwear". She was horrified and wouldn't open the package until others started opening theirs and she then got the joke.
Oh, Jay - thank you for sharing! Love the bit about Archer Mayor books - he'd love to know that. That uncle sounds like an acquired taste. I'm glad he at least had bought the actual doll for your cousin.
DeleteHallie, my uncle with the sense of humor is the best! Always gave the best and most on point gifts but he liked to have fun with it as well.
DeleteMy mother, organized, efficient, not a great cook, but a good one. Every Thanksgiving at some point she would say "This turkey is drier than the one from last year". As adults we would tease her saying that the first turkey must have been liquefied and in a Home Depot bucket. Her response was usually the "mom glare" and a shrug.
ReplyDeleteShe also mistakenly grabbed egg nog instead of milk to add to the sweet potato casserole, the kind with marshmallows. She liked it so from that point on that was how the sweet potatoes were served. My teeth ache today just thinking about this.
I sounds like our mothers shared some of the same traits, Hallie. Thank you for sharing the essay, it sparked my memories.
Eggnog and sweet potatoes... mulling... why not!
DeleteMy mother invited two international college students to join us for Thanksgiving. The house was immaculate, the table set with her wedding china and silver. While basting the turkey, it flew out of the roasting pan and across the kitchen floor. Just another American Thanksgiving tradition!
ReplyDeleteMargaret, that's hilarious! Thanks for the chuckle this morning!
DeleteSlippery little guy - I can actually picture it. I once lost a roast duck (not for Thanksgiving) on the way from the kitchen to the table. I picked it up, dusted it off, and we ate it.
DeleteSo poignant, Hallie! And such a vivid description! On her last Christmas, my mom was ensconced in her usual corner of the living room couch, frail, fragile. My dad, brothers and sisters, spouses, nephews, and two aunts were milling about, hovering around her after Christmas dinner. I put a tape of bluegrass music in the tape player. When the fiddle player cut loose, my mom got to her feet and started 'dancing' to the music, laughing. Everyone was laughing, delighted to share her joy in the music of 'home.' It was the only time I'd ever seen her dancing.
ReplyDeleteMUSIC! What a lovely memory!! At our Thanksgiving my daughter unearthed a vinyl Sesame Street record and we all danced to ME LOST ME COOKIE AT THE DISCO... Sweet chaos.
DeleteHallie, your essay is very moving.
ReplyDeleteWhen an author writes about their memories of their mother , it touches me in a special way.
My mother died more than fifty years ago and it still affects me especially around Christmas and New Year because she loved it so much.
I remember when she woke us up to go to midnight mass and then we came back home to develop our gifts . All this time she looked at us with so much love and pride, I’ll never forget.
Danielle