From an email:

25 REASONS I OWE MY MOTHER

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Last summer my oldest daughter started looking for new vehicle…she had a car that was 7 years old and getting OLD to her…she wanted something different; she had just taken a job at Mass General Hospital and her income increased substantially- she could afford something better.

She asked her Dad to go with her on the search…after all HE knows a deal when it’s there..and HE can make a good deal better. It’s usually true- men know how to talk their way into sweet options and financing issues. My daughter just adores her father and she’s always trusted his judgment on these things.

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I love the rain.

Ever since I was a little kid, I go outside when it’s raining. The heavier, the better. I can still smell the rain too- from those days when I was little and would play for hours at a time…either in the mud pit or out in the woods. The forest- during a rain storm smells different. Mossy. Grassy. Woodsy. Something like it. The fun things to do in the woods included peeling the moss off of rocks and boulders (and putting the green stuff into my pockets to bring home to Mom…); picking up old leaves to see what kinds of bugs lived under them (and putting those into my pockets too, for Mom…) taking the bark off of trees was a lot easier too when they were wet. I remember the birch trees- white peeling sheets that rolled off with ease and little effort. Making forest “stew” out of chunks of wet wood and funky rocks- mixing them with dirt and mud and leaves and twigs. Yummy. If I had a bowl or other container I would make a batch up and attempt to bring it home.

Down the road from the house was a big field with lots of tall dirt pits- that turned into mudslides every time it rained. My favorite place to play during these times. My parents forbade me from doing that- going up those mound of mud- because I might fall into them and be lost forever (so they told me…) but I always snuck up anyway. And I never got smooshed down into the mud either. But I did get dirty as heck- I would slide down the sides of that thing over and over again. It was cold and slimy and wet and I had a great time. All sorts of little creatures lived there too- frogs and toads and water bugs and other insects. They were my friends when no one else was allowed to come out and play. I was a tomboy and then some…getting dirty didn’t bother me in the least. My sneakers and clothes literally turned black everytime it rained.

It was always great fun to walk the trail around the pond too when it was raining. Big maple and oak trees were along the shore of the pond, with huge trunks that hung out over the water. Being wet made for a more fun time swinging on them and jumping into the water…always a dangerous thing for me cause I didn’t know how to swim yet. I did that in an effort to clean up a little before going home for lunch.

My poor mother. No wonder she always had five pairs of sneakers for me and many sets of clothes. No matter how filthy I was, she always welcomed me back home. But I did have to strip down to nakedness and she did spray me off with the yard hose first…she would clean out my fingernails, then she’d wrap me up in a towel and dry me off, bring me in for soup and a sandwich and milk. She would re-braid my hair as I ate and go on and on about what a messy girl I was…then I would get dressed again and run outside to do it all over again. Everytime it rained. Thunder never stopped me. Lightening never stopped me.

At night the lightening used to scare me though. It would wake me up and I would go to my parents bed and snuggle up with them- my Dad always woke up and told me not to worry. It’s weird how it looks so different during the day- lightening- then night.

The ocean is another place I love to be when it rains and storms. The waves are full of anger and strength; the greenish-blue water foams and froths and stirs with incredible force. Crashing, thunderous noises arise with every lightening bolt; it will blind you if you watch it. The lightening seems to come down from the sky and seers the water- which lights up like a million candles.
Huge piles of seaweed make their way to shores, eventually to stuck in some place where there’s not enough water to maintain their life. They dance and whither and move about in strange ways.

It’s much louder at the beach too- these storms. I suppose that’s because there is nothing to buffer the sounds of a violent ocean. The sea gulls don’t seem to fear these storms either as you can always watch them- they dive down into the water looking for and finding fish…and they fly to the beaches and devour their catch. They sing strange songs too during a storm- and one can always hear them over the thunder.

The scent of the ocean is stronger during the rain as well. The salty air can be felt, almost touched. The odor lasts for hours after the rains end.

Rain.
It’s relaxing and calming. It’s been raining most the week up here…and a little while ago it thundered and I just had to go out to play again. I got down into the mud and looked for frogs and toads and bugs and all that- my dog looked with me. I got all dirty and had to shower off when I came in…I hope I never lose my love for the rain.

This time of year always reminds me of those first days of school…the autumn colors and leaves and pumpkins- and school buses and book bags and lunch boxes.

I was a tomboy when I was very young. Much to my mothers horror, she would buy me expensive frilly dresses and tights and bows for my hair, and ugly black shiny shoes- and I would throw these clothes into the pond…I would run around in my PJ’s before wearing those awful dreaded outfits. My mother finally figured me out and started buying me clothes I would wear: jeans and t shirts and sneakers and sweaters. My friends and I used to play out in the woods and in the water and mud- we climbed trees and built forts out of sand and rocks and tree trunks. We dug into the dark dirts of the forests around our houses, we caught frogs and toads and salamanders and snakes and turtles. No matter what the weather was, we were always outdoors- rain, snow, sleet, blizzard.

By the time first grade rolled around, I was a full fledged blue jean baby queen. No pink dresses and ribbons for this kid.

I was one of a kind. But I didn’t know it at the time. I figured every kid was just like me, in the innocent way we all thought about life when we were six or so. My friends, Kim and Patty were just like me but they would wear dresses and nice shoes. I wouldn’t have any part of that. The first day I ever went to school, I remember holding my mothers hand as she dragged me into a classroom, full of boys and girls I didn’t know. Kim was in another class and Patty wasn’t coming to school for another week. I was on my own.

The girls all wore dresses- with these checkered patterns and nubby materials. They had tights and shoes on too…and fancy things in their hair. It didn’t bother me, as I paid little attention to all that. I went right over to the toys and books and wanted to know when I would be able to go outside and play. My poor Mom- I remember she was crying up a storm and I didn’t know why?
Me, being the baby of her family, was going to school for the first time and these things make Moms emotional. I don’t remember her leaving…but I do remember hearing the teacher, Mrs. Kullgren, call my name and she showed me where my little desk was. It was a wooden desk with a top that lifted up. Other than that I don’t really remember too much about that day.

As the weeks moved along I began to really like recess. Going outside. Getting out of that stuffy classroom that smelled like old books and some other scents I can’t describe. Recess was THE best part of the days. We had three: One in the am, one after we ate lunch and one mid afternoon. I think they were 15 or 20 minutes long but I could be wrong here. A bell would ring out loud to alert us that recess had either started or ended. When it began, I would run out the doors and sprint down the corridor, slide down the barrister on the stairwell and break through the doors to get outside. Mrs. Kullgren would yell for me to WALK!! or SLOW DOWN!! but I always ignored her. I wasn’t the only one either- bunches of us would do this.

Once outside, the serious business of play would start. Tag. Touch Football. Hide and seek. Four square. All worthy things and usually reserved for the warmer sunny days. When it was raining out, we would do recess outside too- the fresh air did wonders for kids with foggy brains, our principal would always tell us. And we loved it: Rain always meant MUD. And puddles to jump in.
And worms to dissect. We never used umbrellas but I remember those rain coats and how sweaty we got under them.

After a few weeks of this it occurred to me that other than Kim and Patty and myself, the other girls never played with us. They would be doing the jump rope thing or marbles and jacks…while we chased each other and the boys or organized ourselves into teams for the contact games. One never saw the girls on the playground equipment- the swings, the jungle gyms and slides. We were always climbing on the gyms - hanging upside down, or swinging so high we went around the frame. The girls wouldn’t do these things cause they had on their dresses…

In the winter we brought our sleds to school, and recess meant some extreme sliding down a huge hill that was part of the property of the school. The boys would always have their toboggans- we girls would bring those red saucer things or the blue rolled up pieces of plastic. Sometimes we would just build forts in the snowbanks and other times we would build snowmen.
When you’re a kid you don’t think about stupid things like how cold it is- so if you forgot your hat or mittens it wasn’t a big deal.
You could lay in the snow for hours and it didn’t bother you. It seemed Mrs. Kullgren always had an extra set of hats and gloves and even a coat here and there for those of us who got so wet from the snow we needed a change. She always brought in cookies too, which were always hot when we returned to the classroom.

Of everything I should remember about first grade, recess is the ONLY thing I remember. Those were the days huh??

I grew up on the shores of a small pond in a remote town in New Hampshire. The Pond, as we called it, was THE place to be. There was a trail that went around it, we called it the Path- and it had lots of rocks to climb over. And little streams that fed off the main water- where we made “bridges” out of old planks of wood from any one of our parents barns. On the very edges of the Pond, there were cattails by the thousands, and in the shallow waters- lily pads. Big and small.

We built tree forts and dug deep holes in the dirt along the Path- where we would bunker down for a day of imaginary games and wars and whatnot. I recall spending every day of the summers here- playing around this body of water that became a part of life. In the winter, we would ice skate on the pond and cheat the Path…we could build igloos on the ice and dig into HUGE snowbanks made by drifting winds. No matter what time of the year, the Pond offered us endless hours of fun.

My neighbors were my friends and they still are to this day. Kim and Jimmy grew up with me in this obscure place. Today, Kim and I went for a walk around the Pond, along the old Path. Brought back lots of memories.

The Pond had an abundance of wild flowers and bushes growing around it. Every variety of vegetition could be seen- flowers, trees, fruit bushes and grasses. Moss, mold, algae. It was a very cool place to be if you were a kid! The deep woods had a special scent to them- I can’t describe it. Part moss, part wet dirt…pine pitch from the thousands of trees of that variety…we liked to go there after it rained more than any other time. The leaves were slick and one had to be careful or fall.

The scents and scenes haven’t changed through the years. Kim and I noted right off- an old familiar place with the same boulders and other landmarks long since forgotten about, were still there. We recalled certain games and tasks we did around these areas- and we could almost hear the ghosts of ourselves out there- laughing, yelling, calling each other names and teasing- from way back in the early 1970’s. We came across old trees with our names inscribed into the bark with little pocket knives we had back then. It’s amazing how Mother Nature doesn’t erase these things. It’s been 30 years since we have been to the Pond.

As we walked along the Path, we wandered off of it to see long ago places of fun and frolic. There was the small hill of boulders which I sat on one day, only to get stung by a hornet because it was a nest I actually rested upon; then there was the old beat up log that Kim tried to do some acrobats on one day- only to get snarled up with some snakes who happened to call this their home. And the little stream that had a very weak log bridge over it- that Jimmy stepped on and quickly busted- and he fell into the cold stream and got caught up in the little waterfall that it turned into. We all survived these little mishaps and it made Kim and I laugh.

Things looked different. The Path was much bigger when we were kids. Or so it seems. Alot of tall grass has grown over it- what used to be a very distinct path is now a narrow rugged trail that one needs boots on to maneuver about. Some parts of this Path have been washed away and we had to look at the Pond to gain perspective as to where we were. As then, a lot of mud is everywhere.

Our houses that we grew up in are still standing. Kim grew up in a two story Cape Cod style house- with a huge yard and a long driveway with the white fences and stonewalls surrounding it. Jimmy’s house was a ultra modern thing of it’s day- half of it was underground and the other half barely above ground. Strange, on his property, his folks had a big red barn. They had a small farm too with horses and some cows, chickens, geese. The farm is gone along with the barn, but the house is still there. As it once was. My house was a gambrel style- big, three stories and we had a barn and a long driveway. We also had a boat house with a small boat we used to go fishing. It’s all still there.

In our yards we had dandilions and pink clover; along the path around the Pond were lilacs and morning glories, heather and Indian Paint Brushes- Lady Slippers grew in abundance; and in one special spot on the trail around this pond, grew wild roses. All summer long- these bushes were in full bloom. They smelled wonderful- the scent of wild flowers is always better than the cultured kind we buy from commercial sellers.

Today we found these same roses, in the same location, untouched by man. The roses are still out, even when it’s been so cool here lately. There were thousands of them- bushes- wild and tall and colorful. And they smelled the same as they did 30 yrs ago.

It seemed that no matter where one walked though, the Queen Ann’s Lace was over abundant. It was everywhere- along the road, the trail, in the yards, in the woods. Next to the birch trees with their white peeling bark. In the deep woods near moss covered rocks and boulders. Everyone told me that this Queen Ann lace was really just a weed. That is wasn’t a true flower. I never believed them. I loved the slight fragrance that emitted from the delicate white flowers that did look like lace.

We used to pick bunches of the Queen Ann and roses and give them to our mothers. Mixed in with whatever other flower we thought would look pretty at the time- sometimes those morning glories, others it might be dandilions. We would present them with much anticipation and pride. NO matter- our Mom’s always loved the thought and would place the bouquets into vases of water and place them on shiny wood tables near the front door. The flowers died eventually but not the smiles they brought to our Moms.

It was an interesting day- going back to this place. It’s not the first time I have been back- I have taken my daughters on walks around the Pond several times. This was the first time Kim and I went back. Our dogs came with us- Kim’s BIG DOG named Tank- who stands 4 1 1/2 feet tall and weighs over 120lbs. He loved the walk and went for a swim…Taz came along as well and got into the mud before the water. They chased snakes and frogs and stood in bewlidered shock looking at the salamanders.

I HATE flowers, but I had to pick a huge bunch of those roses and Queen Ann lace today- for memory sake. They sit in front of me here now, in an old stoneware crock. I plan to dry them and press them. It’s good to travel back in time now and again, live and in person, to see those places that helped make you who you are.

We spent today with Kim’s Mom…Yvette. She has a really bad chest cold- that’s going around the entire area…Mom had an MD appt for a check up. Things are deteriorating quickly.

Yvette was born in 1945. She had three daughters, all in the 60’s, by different fathers. She doesn’t know who the actual Dad’s are to Kim and her sisters. She married Mack in 1969, who adopted the girls as his own. They were all born here in NH and they lived in Peterborough, right up the road from me. Mack died about 8 yrs ago of a heart attack. Yvette has been an alcoholic for as long as I can remember.

Way back when we were little kids, Kim and I would play by the pond. There was a little beach there- man made by a big mound of sand someone had dumped off. Through the yrs that mound flattened down. It was a favorite spot for Kim and me. We would play in the water and pretend to be aliens, LOL, influenced by re-runs of Lost In Space. My family had a boat house, but we never kept our boat in it. Instead it became the play house for the neighborhood kids. It was right next to our little beach. Jimmy would come over with Janine, and together we would pretend the house was a big space ship. Hours and hours were spent in this area, playing and fighting and laughing and all that stuff.

One day we decided it would be really cool to take the boat out onto the pond. The boat would be a neat satelite ship…and so it was. We dragged it out into the water and climbed into it. Did we ask our folks? No. Did they notice all the glee and noise and tugging and lugging that occurred? No. Our parents were all drunk, sitting on the porch of my house. We were less than 100 feet away from them.

We managed to row the boat on into the middle of the pond. I’m sure we made a ot of commotion and noise- 4 young (5, 6, 7 yr olds)…the further out we got, the louder we laughed and the world looked different. The pond was at the base of Pack Monadnock Mnt- which is really just an ant hill, but to a little kid, it looked like Mnt. Everest. I remember looking UP at it and being in awe of it’s massive size. Heh. Next thing I know, Kim falls out of the boat and into the pond. She can’t swim. She can barely keep herself afloat…Jimmy knew how to swim and being the only boy out of the lot, he jumped in and “saved” her. By dragging her to the shore. He wasn’t strong enough to push her back into the boat. That left Janine and I in the boat by ourselves.

I’ll never forget it…and neither will Kim. Her mother, Yvette came over and dragged Kim by her long hair, pulled her pants down, spanked her hard and called her every name in the book.
Kim screamed and cried. We all deserved to be whacked for what we did, no doubt. Jimmy’s Dad smacked him with a branch from a tree; thats when the rest of the grown ups noticed me and Janine out in the boat.

My Dad yelled to me to row the boat back to the shore. Which I did with a lof of huffing and puffing. I was very little for my age- barely 2 1/2 feet tall at that age. Janine was bigger and older and she tried to help but she was scared to death. She knew she would be getting what her brother got.

We eventually got the boat to the shore and my Dad pulled me out, by my hair (that seemed to be a common thing). I got spanked and swatted and was sent to my room. We all went to our respective rooms that night…and after all settled down and the grown up had passed out, literally, we snuck outside to the woods to our secret fort. There we shared the horror stories of our parents beating us up after we got home. Kim got burned by cigarette butts. She showed us the burns on her back and belly. Jimmy and Janine just got spanked again as did I…Kim always got the worst of it. Her mother was the one who scared us all the most. She was the youngest Mom of them all, the one with the meanest demeanor. We called her Yvette the Witch cause she looked like one. She was very abusive to Kim and her sisters.

Which brings me back to now. I look at Yvette and see just a shell of that witch- she has aged and she has shrunk a little. She isn’t so scary now. Kim and her sisters tower over her now, and in spite of the burns and beatings, they love their Mother. They look out for her. They cherish her. Yvette is dying. She has Alzheimer’s Disease which has robbed her of those very memories her children must endure. Every now and again though, the old Yvette comes through. She will be sitting at the table having her lunch…and make a snide comment to Kim about her looks or clothes or something like that. Or she will be sundowning in the early evenings, seeking out her daughters who…must be out misbehaving as always. In her mind the kids are still little. She looks for them while smacking her hands together, as if in preparation for what she used to do to them.

It amazes me that Yvette’s daughters stand by her. I don’t know if I would have the ump to do that. Family rocks for sure. Forgiveness is a wonderful value.