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| Mom and a Storyboard |
“Look at her!” my friend Sus declares as we uncover photos of my mom.
I’ve found the black and white photos of my mother at work.
She was one of the first female art directors on the “mad men” scene of Madison
Avenue. I heard the story so many times, about how I was almost born at Y&R (Young
& Rubicam) but how she just barely made it to Flowers and Fifth
Hospital—after a quick stop to pick up a nightgown in Bloomingdale’s
I go through photos—there are hundreds, maybe even thousands
of them. They date back to the time my mom was little, posing on the Boardwalk
in front of her parents’ home in Brighton Beach. Posing…they were always
posing.
Words are tangled in my throat as I peruse her sketchbooks,
and flash back to the times she sketched at parties, when curious guests
couldn’t help but come by and ask what she was doing, look over her shoulder,
admire her fluid intake and translation of the scenes around her.
I was not like the guests; her sketching made me
uncomfortable.
Now, as I leaf through the dozen or so sketchbooks, I have an uneasiness mixed with pride and regret that I didn’t enjoy her drawing—while she was drawing. Why did her sketching bother me? Why didn’t I accept it more readily? Why wasn’t I proud then?
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| Mom's Sketches in Spain |
As some of you may know, now over two years ago, we moved
from a house into an apartment. At that big downsizing time, I took a lot
of my old photos—okay not only mine, but those from and of my parents (their
ex-spouses!), grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents-in-law, siblings, kids…well,
you get the picture. Tons of photos! They were packed into large Rubbermaid
tubs and put into storage.
One of my new year’s resolutions was to go through, sort,
keep or toss: my big dig. And so, it’s begun.
It’s amazing how many blurry photos, how many duplicates,
how many “unknowns,” and how many trees and sunsets were captured. And as I
sift, I try to identify criteria for saving.
My criteria has yet to be defined. I do know that I’m not
going to scan them all; I want to keep the “hard copies.” Not sure what I’ll do
with them, but I’m enjoying going through them…remembering so very many moments.
In another box, I’ve found letters. Those I’m loathe to
toss…at least some of them. Especially words from people, like my parents, who
are no longer on this earth with us. I've put those aside for now. I'll read them all. Eventually.
This all comes back to my kitchen. As many of you may also
know, food is another way I keep people ever-present. Menu planning is
something I enjoy daily: I think about who’s going to eat it, what the weather
is like, what’s available, and what people might be craving.
I open up a recipe box, and look for one of our Christmas Eve classics: The orange Jell-O mold, complete with shredded carrots and crushed pineapple, which she always made in the shape of a Christmas tree.
I never thought I’d ever make it. Now I pull out the recipe, and look for the pan that it will set in.
