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Treasure Each Moment

09 Saturday Jul 2011

Posted by in Lessons Learned From Mom, Personal Memories

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I recognize that my personal philosophy of life has many of its roots in my childhood. While I wouldn’t even pretend to know when or where most of my philosophical paradigms originated, I feel quite certain that a significant one was crystallized for me in the summer of 1964 when I was not yet ten years old.

On March 27, 1964, Alaska suffered a devastating earthquake. By that summer, numerous magazines were featuring stories about the tragedy. I had already seen a few articles filled with images of derailed trains, collapsed homes, and pavement left with gaping holes. To ease my fears and some youthful curiosity, my mom and I had spent time talking about the tragedies that typically accompany a natural disaster. She had also taken the time to reassure me that earthquakes were atypical for Maryland, which is where we were living at the time.

Soon after this, I came across yet another article related to the earthquake. It was written by a woman whose plans for an Alaskan vacation, with her family, had been interrupted due to the earthquake. The article included a photograph of the woman sitting next to an opened and completely packed suitcase. This was not a story of grim adversity but a story of personal disappointment. I hadn’t suffered any more disappointments than the average 9 1/2 year old, but for some reason that still eludes me, this story weighed heavily on my mind. I recognized it wasn’t as tragic as the stories where people had lost their lives or their homes but it still felt incredibly sad to me.

I loved discussions with my mom. Talking to her was always so comfortable. I use the word comfortable instead of easy because it wasn’t my mom’s style to just tell you what you wanted to hear. She was loving, compassionate, and supportive but she was always honest. Even if the truth might sting. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by her reaction to the Alaskan vacation story. She did have sympathy for the family but she wasn’t willing to just let it go at that.

“Did they have fun planning for the trip?” she asked. She wasn’t really expecting an answer. She was counting on the fact that I would recall our cherished family planning sessions. My dad would bring home travel brochures and the three of us would huddle around planning just where we would go and what we would see and do. “Did they enjoy the time they spent packing…choosing the clothes they would need for a chilly Alaskan climate?” This time she was counting on the fact that I had always loved my clothes and creating outfits. She knew how much I delighted in every moment spent choosing the perfect bathing suit or pair of sandals to pack for a trip.

She wanted me to recognize that even though the family lost their chance at this Alaskan vacation, the wonderful memories they created while anticipating and preparing for the trip, weren’t lost. If those memories were only of family arguments and frustrating moments, then it would indeed be a sad story.

I eventually understood  what she was trying to teach me. Today is too precious to waste while waiting for tomorrow. That lesson has stayed with me for the rest of my life. I’d like to be able to say that I never waste a moment of today worrying about something that is happening tomorrow….but that simply isn’t true. I forget more times than I’d like to admit. But every time I recognize I’m in a frenzy, caught up in the process of getting through today so I can get to tomorrow, it is the thought of my mom and the image of that packed suitcase, that brings me back to what I know is really important.

Throughout my life, my mother looked for ways to show me that life is a gift and each day is worth celebrating. She was a wonderful teacher. I got the message.

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Just Hand Over the Dishes and Nobody Gets Hurt

01 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by in Uncategorized

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I need a Twelve-Step Program for my addiction to dishes. Yes, you read it correctly. I am obsessed with dishes. Not the commemorative type that people buy to remember special occasions or unique places. I can’t seem to own enough dinner plates, salad bowls, 16-piece dinnerware sets.

As my generation was growing up, it was readily accepted that blame for everything unpleasant about yourself be placed on your parents.  As I see it, my mother really is to blame for my out-of-control dish fetish.

We were a little family, just the three of us, but that never stopped my mother from making a big deal about meals. Every night we ate dinner on an artfully set table complete with candles. She owned just one set of everyday dishes but she mixed and matched those basically white dishes with solid black bowls and salad plates, different placemats, and candles. Our table looked remarkably different, each night, even though it was set with essentially the same dinnerware.  

 My father was no help.  Delighting in the dinner atmosphere that she created, he did irrational things to support her. One day, he sanded and painted three inexpensive, wooden, salt and pepper shakers so she would have some additional touches of color on the table.  As you can see, I was doomed from the very beginning.

When you’re a teenager, you don’t really want to be like your parents but I recognized, early on, that I’d be wise to emulate many of my mom’s personal traits.  She loved to spend time with friends, had a definite sense of style, and a genuine ease with entertaining. I never seemed to develop her sense of table style or her genuine ease at entertaining. But I loved my friends and somewhere along the way, I must have decided that I could make up for what I was lacking, in the hostess department, with a substantial collection of dishes. I bet even Perle Mesta, the hostess with the mostess, didn’t own as many dishes as I do.

So, my journey down this road of dish acquisition began. To my first, simple set of white, everyday dishes, I added sets that matched the accent colors in my apartment. From there, I moved to thematic dishes…after all, what says yummy breakfast better than a chicken running across your plate? Eventually, holiday dishes joined the collection. Christmas dishes had become quite popular and were easy to find. I’ll probably have a harder time finding Ground Hog’s Day dishes.

Meanwhile, my friends think I’m crazy. Luckily, they haven’t tried a group intervention. My friend, Judy relentlessly asks me when she will be receiving an invitation for dinner. “Roger and I are so looking forward to coming to dinner,” she’ll exclaim, “we can’t wait to eat from lobster dishes and use those matching lobster crackers.”  I know she’s just taunting me.  And she doesn’t have a clue how long I searched for a set of lobster dishes that coordinated with those red metal lobster pinchers.  Nobody really understands.

 As we head toward Independence Day, I thought it might be appropriate, for a blog on celebrations, to feature a picture of a festively set table highlighting my Fourth of July dishes. Aren’t they just the cutest… with their little pointed stars and subtle red stripes? I’ll be enjoying them for the entire month. Then, I’ll pack them away knowing I won’t see them again for another year. The only thing that will keep me from shedding tears is the fact that the black dishes with the pumpkins will be out in just 92 more days.

Happy 4th of July!