My Mom & Voting

My parents were both huge fans of the democratic process and saw participating in elections as their civic responsibility.  Growing up, I saw voting as one of those thrillingly adult activities, the kind you just.can't.wait to grow into.  I remember standing with my mother in a long, winding line that stretched through my elementary school cafeteria, waiting for our turn.  I was at that size where you can still manage to sort of crawl around your parents, through their legs, climbing up and over them.  That's how I passed the time in line.  She let me come into the voting booth with her.  It felt sacred and important to witness that ritual of adulthood.  This was back when the contraption used to cast your vote included heavy metal levers.  I can't tell you the disappointment I suffered the first time I voted onsite and received only a paper ballot and a pencil.  Fill in the bubble?  Please.    

My mom and I didn't always vote for the same candidates, although she was solidly in the gay marriage camp once she knew I would marry a woman.  But even when we weren't on the same side, she was always happy when my candidate won, because it made me happy.  In retrospect, I imagine we spent several hours on the phone on at least one election night with her solidly rooting for her second favorite candidate.  It blows my mind to this day.  How does one learn that selflessness?  I'm still snickering when I see a Romney-Ryan sticker on a car (losers) and she was doing play-by-play with me for a guy she drove to a school, stood in line, and voted against.  God, I miss her.  I miss the conversation we didn't get to have when Obama was reelected (she voted for him once, she would have voted for him again).  She didn't get to vote for Question 6 and see gay marriage legalized in our home state of Maryland.  In fact, a few weeks before the election I received a card in the mail from the Cecil County Board of Elections asking me to verify that she was gone and could, therefore, be taken off the voter rolls.

Yeah, she's gone.  Thanks for the reminder.

My Mom & Halloween

Halloween was my mother's least favorite holiday.  Frankly, she despised it.  I think she just didn't get why people would want to dress up as creepy crawlies and scare each other half to death.

The thing is, I didn't find this out until I was well into adulthood and long past the days of trick-or-treating, costume shopping, and pumpkin carving.  When I was a kid, when I thought Halloween was the next best thing to Christmas, she was all over that holiday.  We decorated the house with silly Halloween stuff (goofy skeletons, smiling jack-o'-lanterns) and she stayed at home to hand out candy while my dad took me around the neighborhood.  If you would have asked me how my mom felt about Halloween when I was a kid, I would have told you she loved it.  But really, she loved me.   

My mom was not a crafty woman, but I remember vividly the year she spent weeks hand sewing an orange yarn wig to go along with the homemade clown costume my grandmother made me.  I can see her sitting at the kitchen table, painstakingly sewing loops of orange to an old sweatband.  I'm not sure why she didn't just buy me one of those rainbow-colored curly wigs, but I'm glad she didn't.  I remember us putting together an old lady costume out of her old clothes and the thrill it gave me to wear her things.  It made me feel different, grown up, a little wild.  All the feelings that dressing up brings out in me still.  

I don't think Halloween was a unique event.  I think Mom probably pretended to like lots of things for me.  I'm not a parent, so this particular brand of selflessness is completely foreign to me.  All I know is that I love everything associated with Halloween: crisp Autumn weather, dressing in costume, parties, the color orange, scary movies, pumpkins, haunted houses.  And that's all because of my mother, a woman who didn't like those things at all (that's not entirely true, she definitely liked parties).  The fact that she could instill in me something so completely opposite her own beliefs feels like magic.

Oh yeah, I like magic, too.  Happy Halloween, y'all.
  

That's not to say she didn't enjoy a little
dress-up now and again.

My Mom & Fashion

A 60s beach beauty.

My mother was a wonderfully fashionable woman.  By that I don't mean that she owned all the highest-end designers or obsessively read fashion magazines and followed trends.  I mean she had an eye for putting together attractive, interesting outfits.  She knew how to accessorize.  She looked good.  Always.

When my mother died, one of my older cousins told me a story.  She said that when she was younger, her mother - at that time divorced from my uncle - sent her to one of our family events with a terrible, inappropriate outfit.  It made my cousin feel ashamed to have been sent to a dress-up occasion with only these clothes to wear.  My mom took one look at the outfit, and at my cousin, and took her shopping for a new outfit.  My mom bought her a dress and wedge-heeled shoes.  My cousin told me that these were the first clothes that made her feel good about herself and that she wore that dress until it was rags.  I treasured this story because it so exemplifies my mother's kindness and her style.

When I was a teenager, my mom and I would go shopping nearly every weekend.  We'd hit the sale racks at Macy's to find crazy good discounts on the name brands I felt I needed to wear.  Back then it was names like Guess, Esprit, Benetton, and, perhaps most embarrassingly, Z Cavaricci.  We'd spent hours digging through the clothes, trying things on, and doing the math to figure out sale prices.

She even looked good in the 80s.

I learned a lot from those shopping trips.  I learned that looking good makes you feel good.  I learned that having nice things is a privilege and should be treated as such.  I learned a little bit about work and reward and a lot about selflessness and love.

A perfect red print.

Even when we didn't live close enough to shop together regularly, my mom and I would talk about our latest finds and best deals.  A few weeks before she died,  I found a brand new Vera Wang Lavender dress for $35 in a consignment shop.  She wanted me to describe every detail of the dress and couldn't wait to see it.  In the same conversation, she told me about finding several pairs of Liz Claiborne capri pants in perfect condition in one of her favorite thrift stores.  We could talk color, fabric, and price for hours.

I'll miss our yearly Christmas shopping trip to the outlet mall, our impromptu fashion shows, and her advice on fit and accessorizing.  All my best outfits, my most creative ensembles, will be dedicated to you, Momma.        

  

My Mom & the Blog

Janet as a young girl.

I lost my mother, Janet, on September 30, 2012.  She was 63 years old.  She was my first love, my greatest supporter and most ardent defender, and my oldest, best friend.  I'm scared of forgetting her.  I'm worried that others will forget her.  This blog is a place where I can keep her memory alive.

The name of the blog comes from the fact that I can relate just about any place, idea, or object to my Mom.  She was the foundation from which all of my ideas and opinions grew.  On this site, I plan to remember her through the things she loved (me, my Dad, Caribbean cruises), hated (bananas, cruelty, poor fashion sense), feared (change, losing my Dad, snakes), and revered (her physicians, the Long Island medium, her parents).  

Mom and Dad in Key West, FL.

Although the blog is dedicated to my mother, I'm sure my father will be a frequent guest star.  He died on November 27, 2009 from liver cancer.  He and my mother were married for 38 years.  My Mom never really adjusted to living life without her best friend, Kenny.  I think at the end of her life she was eager to find him again.  I hope that she did.  

Family portrait from a 1991 cruise.

Along the way, I'll probably also talk a little about myself.  I'm 35 years old.  I live in Washington, DC with my wife and 2 dogs, Cricket and Isabella (she was my Mom's).  I loved my parents completely and miss them terribly.  I feel far too young to be an orphan, but I wouldn't trade my Mom or Dad for the world.  If this is the price I have to pay to have known them, so be it.

Thanks for reading.