The dermatologist had me hold out my freckled forearms so he could inspect them with his magic light. The bony wrist protrusions just before the veins made a map across the back of the hands with long thin fingers attached on the edges. They are her hands, minus the bright red nail polish she favored later in life. I’ve always thought my sister Lori looks the most like her, but I have my mother’s hands to go along with my father’s dark eyes and one-time dark hair.
Those hands were the ones that could reach across a whole octave on the piano with ease as she played with a gentle, unhurried touch. She couldn’t wait to have a house with room for her little Spinet upright. Losing the piano seemed to hurt her more than almost anything from the bankruptcy – she kept them from taking it as long as she could.
One year those hands sewed all five of us dresses that matched her’s for the Mother – Daughter banquet at church. Much later she made an evening gown for herself with sparkling brocade trim for a night out to a dinner show in Chicago.
Many days when I came home from Junior high and high school, one hand held a cigarette and the other a book. Somewhere nearby would be the ubiquitous can of soda – early on Pepsi and later Coke – almost as if she lived on nicotine and caffeine.
Whether she was depressed or in a manic state, a book was always in her hand. She told me when they were first married, she’d go with Daddy to the library. While he studied, she began reading the Encyclopedia – she only got to the letter T before she stopped – crying babies aren’t welcome in quiet zones. She retained lots of knowledge from that exercise. I always marvelled at the seemingly unrelated facts that she knew about lots of things.
My love of reading must have come from that exercise since I’m the baby who kept her from going all the way to Z. Years later, when we had World Books I’d find her with one in hand. I’d like to think she made it all the way through, even with five distractions then.
Tomorrow would have been her eighty-fourth birthday.
Happy birthday Mother!
I always enjoy reading your blog. It always take me to memory lane.
Side note: Please join us for lunch tomorrow August 3 at 12:00 Noon at Surin for my graduation reception.
I wish I had the opportunity to thank and hug your Mother for raising such an awesome woman. Happy Birthday to your Mother!
Beautifully written. When I look at my own hands I always think of my mother to include the arthritic crooked index finger she use to point at me. Love ya Kim!
Love your prose, Kim.
Fabulous memories of Mother.
Thank you!
What a lovely remembrance for your Mother. I’m sure that I, too, absorbed my Moms love of reading while in the womb!