1974
I am the youngest of three girls. My oldest sister who I'll call Sara is four years older than I am. After my other sister, Annie was born, my parents decided they were done having babies. So, my father had a vasectomy and life went along as they had planned. Only a few months later, my mother found out that she was pregnant again. Supposedly doctors didn't know to warn patients that they should use protection for a few months (or either they had a crappy doctor) but regardless, I came along. Annie and I are only 18 months apart and we grew up really close. We shared a room for most of our young childhood and although I know I annoyed her at times, she had such an even temperament that she tolerated me very well. I always felt accepted by her. I was completely in love with her. Annie and I were pretty inseparable throughout elementary school. Sara and Annie were also close. However, Sara and I were constantly at odds. Sara was four when I was born. She pretended to be a mommy with me. You can totally see in her expression in the picture above how in love she is with the baby. The baby is me.
At some point I began to resent Sara's mothering of me. I couldn't ever do anything wrong without her running to tell on me. She would critique me and criticize me and make judgements about me. I never felt like she was my friend. I always believed she was against me. I look at this picture and wonder, "When did she stop thinking I was the greatest thing ever?" The older we've gotten, the worse our relationship gets. It has escalated to the point now that we have not spoken since Labor Day weekend, we did not even spend Christmas together which is a first.
I have told my mother for the last ten years or so that all I really wanted was for her to be my friend. She still treats me like I'm 17. It's as if she doesn't want to open up the side of herself that she shows to her friends. She's very guarded with me, not ever sharing anything with me or asking me to spend time with her. She rarely calls me and has never invited us to join them for a vacation or to come down to visit her. We only live 2 hours apart. It's just really odd to me. Her and Annie have a great relationship despite Annie living 12 hours away. They treat each other like friends, they confide in one another, they give advice. And I don't have that with either of them. Annie and I have it to a certain extent, but it's not like I would like for it to be. Sara and I don't have it at all.
Maybe I just have odd expectations. I don't know. I just wish I was closer to my sisters.
My fondest childhood memory of my grandmother, whom my sisters and I fondly called “Momo”, is of our nightly routines when my sisters and I would spend the night with her and “DinDin”, our grandfather. After feeding us a home cooked meal of fried chicken with all the extras, DinDin would turn on HeeHaw or Dukes of Hazzard, depending on what night it was, and he would twirl my sisters and me around the room and he would slap his knees and we would all laugh at him. Momo would sit in her rocking chair, with the latest harlequin romance novel in her hands, shaking her head at us like we had all lost our minds. Secretly, I think it made her very happy to be surrounded with so much love.
After our nightly television show, Momo would start our baths. This was surprisingly my favorite time of the night. I adored her ceramic pink bathtub with the non-skid flowers stuck to the bottom but enjoyed playing with all of her perfumes and powders even more. Momo had a collection of perfume and I would spend some time after my bath tracing my fingers over the smooth edges, carefully un-capping each one to smell the scents. She always kept large tubs of perfume-scented body powder. The powders were my favorite and inside of each container, laid a big, feathery, pink puff. It was the one item in her bathroom I knew I could use without getting in trouble and so after my bath, I would proceed to puff down my entire body with Chantilly Lace scented powder. Once bath time was over, Momo sent us to bed.
Sometimes, my sister, Amy, and I shared the upstairs guest bedroom. We would climb in bed to wait for Momo to come tuck us in and some nights, we would peek out the door to watch DinDin do his nightly calisthenics. Once Momo was done with her bath, she would come into the room with her pink pajamas and a dewy face that had just been bathed in Pond’s Cold Crème. If it was a cool night, she would lift the windows and the curtains would blow out, lifting her scent, and the smell of her would waft in the air and float over my sister and I.
It’s a funny thing about our senses. The smallest detail can trigger so many memories. Still, to this day, when I spot a tub of Pond’s Cold Crème in the drugstore, I will open the lid and breathe in the scent of sweet memories. I remember that Momo would take a blanket and roll it up and then lay it down right in the middle of the bed – drawing the battle line, so to speak – so that Amy and I had an equal amount of space. She was a peacekeeper and a peacemaker. I cannot ever recall a time when I ever heard Momo or DinDin raise their voice at one another or at us.
It was no secret that Momo was a strong-willed woman. She worked hard all of her life to give an honest, decent life for her children. She worked in a knitting mill for years. And then, once she retired, she devoted the rest of her life to making a wonderful home for her husband and her family. I cannot recall a time when my grandfather did not have a warm breakfast, a warm lunch and a warm supper. Anyone who visited their home for an overnight stay can attest to the warm feeling of waking up to the smell of home-baked biscuits and bacon sizzling on a cast iron skillet.
She was an amazing gardener. If it bloomed, it was in Momo’s yard at one time or another. Crocus, tulips, buttercups, and poppies all had a home throughout her garden. Her yard always made me happy and my favorite flowers are still the very ones that would burst forth with life in her garden every Spring.
She kept a clean home and DinDin always had freshly pressed clothes. She canned jams and pickles and relish. She made homemade vegetable soup – with vegetables out of her own garden. She was different in that she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve. She wasn’t ever what I would consider a doting grandmother but I always knew that I was loved and I always felt safe and happy in her home.
Momo battled with Alzheimer’s for ten years and was diagnosed with cancer in April. On May 21, 2005, she passed away. Her scent will always linger.
1913-2005
Self-Made Man 