WordSisters

  • Are You My Mother?

    cmkraack's avatar

    cmkraack

    In the classic children’s picture book Are You My Mother? a newly hatched bird falls from its nest and wanders about asking that question of a kitten, a hen, a dog, and a few inanimate objects. He is clueless about his own identity and terribly lost.

    You may have been nurtured by a mother possessing all the perfection of Caroline Ingalls or struggled through childhood with a parent who took lessons from Hamlet’s Queen Gertrude. For most people growing up in Mom’s kitchen fell in a more safe and boring middle ground with measured opportunities to learn about yourself and the world. A place where Mom, trusted adults, books, television and other kids helped answer questions whether insignificant or intense.

    The maker of peanut butter sandwiches, enforcer of daily tooth brushing, comforter of physical or emotional injuries, was just a woman who happened to be older than you. She wasn’t gifted by the gods with amazing knowledge, a graduate of a secret parenting program, or anywhere near perfect. She didn’t know why 9/11 happened, how to stop social injustice, who to call about global warming. Her job was to make sure you felt loved and protected, often difficult work in an imperfect world.

    Discovering that your mother has a masters in labor economics, hides a bag of bodice busters in the closet, holds strong feelings about mutual funds versus annuities, was married before she met your father suggests a richness in this woman’s life that has nothing to do with your existence. This is the school where she learned the mirepoix that flavored every scold, joke or counsel.

    Even when the person who mothered you becomes too old or fragile to cook a really good dinner or read a favorite author without help, there will still be unknowns to explore in the woman who taught you to fake burp, to connect cables on a sound system, to ask your boss for more responsibility, to speak in many voices so your child giggles as you read Are You My Mother?.

     

    Reprinted from cynthiakraack.com May 9, 2015

    , , , , , , , , ,

    2 responses to “Are You My Mother?”

    1. Kim Gorman Avatar
      Kim Gorman

      This is a beautiful piece about mothers!

      1. cmkraack Avatar
        cmkraack

        Thank you, Kim. Hope the sun is shining where you are today.

  • The Half-Life of Family Heirlooms

    Ellen Shriner's avatar

    Ellen Shriner

    Recently, when I served dessert to women friends around my grandmother’s dining room table, we described our uneasy relationship with the objects the women of our families treasured.

    Now when we have homemade cookies, we store them in Mimmie Shriner’s Depression glass instead of saving it for good.

    Women of the Greatest Generation, like my mother, cared about “good” china, crystal, and real silverware. They hoped to get full sets of it as wedding presents, and they cherished their mother’s and grandmother’s things. For them, the hope chest tradition was alive and well. They collected china and linens before they married and instilled that value in my Baby Boom friends and me. But our Millennial kids don’t want to fuss with handwashing goblets or ironing tablecloths. Not that I blame them. I don’t either. Nonetheless, my friends and I are distressed about what to do with the tableware and linens we’ve inherited. Let alone the quilts, furniture, and photographs.

    We were brought up to value them, but the tableware really doesn’t make much sense in our lives. Where do you keep it between holidays? Wouldn’t holiday meals be less work if all your dishes could go in the dishwasher? And yet, this stuff mattered so much to our mothers. How can we just donate it to charity? But people do—Goodwill is full of 12-piece place settings with dainty floral borders. I’ve seen Waterford crystal goblets there too.

    Articles like,No One Wants Your Stuffhave taught me to rethink my assumptions. The popularity of books like The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaningand The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up make clear that either I can purge my stuff or my kids will.

    Mimmie Shriner’s table where she served her out-of-work relatives on Sundays during the Depression

    I’m becoming reconciled to the half-life of memories. When my siblings, first cousins, and I—the last people to remember Mimmie Shriner or Grandma Pleitz—are gone, my grandmothers will become “ancestors” instead of the vivid people they are in my head. Mimmie’s dining room table will just be an antique table, and Grandma Pleitz’s crystal goblets will just be wine glasses. Their significance is in my memories; my sons and any future daughters-in-law don’t have those associations—they never knew my grandmothers.

    Many evenings, I sip wine from one of Grandma Pleitz’s eight goblets.

    Yet the objects are a visible reminder of past generations—hardworking, loving women who wanted pretty things in their lives. How can I honor the memory of these women without feeling burdened by their stuff? One way I’ve chosen is to use the good crystal and china even if it isn’t a holiday. When it chips or breaks, I throw it out. That way my grandmothers come to mind and are more present in my life. If their tablecloths get shrunk or stained—so be it. At least they got used and enjoyed. Likewise, I honor my grandmothers by keeping a few things I really like so I can look at them often. Finally, I remind myself that heritage doesn’t reside in the objects alone. It’s also passed down through our family’s recipes, traditions, stories, and values.

    Mimmie put hairpins in this small handpainted dish. I never put salt Grandma Pletiz’s salt cellars, but I still like them.

    I accept that my sons and future daughters-in-law may not care about my stuff—whether inherited or chosen during 30+ years of marriage. If they do, they will have different memories than mine. I hope they only keep what they care about.

    , , , , ,

    10 responses to “The Half-Life of Family Heirlooms”

    1. Kim Gorman Avatar
      Kim Gorman

      This is such an important topic. When my beloved grandmother passed, I was blessed to receive her mahogany hope chest, along with her china, silverware, a beautiful bedspread like piece with a scene of the Virgin Mary hand painted on it that I have no idea what to do with. I also have all of her photo albums beginning with when she and my grandfather married, and a large painted portrait of her and my grandfather in their middle years. To my astonishment, her own children, my father and aunt, didn’t want any of it. My father only wanted the hope chest so he could sell it, but thankfully my great aunt stuck up for me and said she heard my grandmother say she wanted me to have it. I also have her parents’ (my great-grandparents) giant trunk that they packed their belongings in when they came over to America from Sicily. It’s up in the loft in our garage doing nothing, but I cannot bear to get rid of it. I cherish all of these items and I will never get rid of them. I will think carefully about who to leave them to, though admittedly once they are in someone else’s hands, what they do with it is out of their control. Like you, I use the china on holidays or when I have dinner parties, but I have to admit I can’t deal with having to clean the silver so I avoid using it.

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
        Ellen Shriner

        Your grandmother probably believed her special things were her main legacy, though of course, it is much wider than that. Wonderful that you respect and treasure her things. Think of all the stories behind the objects!

    2. Ann Coleman Avatar
      Ann Coleman

      I like your idea of actually using your mother’s treasured heirlooms. It’s a way of honoring her and being practical as well. I still have the china set I got when I was married, and lots of other old dishes that belonged to my relatives. But I also use them whenever we have large family gatherings. Still, the only thing that makes them precious is the memories associated with them. So if I can’t remember who gave me something and I don’t use it regularly, I do get rid of it.

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
        Ellen Shriner

        I agree–it’s the memory that makes a piece a treasure. I’ve also let go of anything that I was unlikely to use and anything I didn’t feel a strong connection to.

    3. Bev Bachel Avatar
      Bev Bachel

      Such a timely post as I struggle with what to keep and what to let go of, made more challenging by the day as two loved ones in their 90s are passing on things to me that they hope I will once treasure as they did.

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
        Ellen Shriner

        Taking their feelings into account makes the project so hard. They want someone to love what they have loved. I think they consider it to be part of their legacy, and of course, we want to honor that. When I was dealing with my mother’s things and her sister’s belongings, I tried hard to keep in mind that their lives and legacies were so much more than their things. It was hard though. A lot of angst and tears.

    4. Pam Gemin Avatar
      Pam Gemin

      This was a tough one for me, given my parents’ lives as collectors of beautiful things. I kept my favorites, but it was overwhelming. Their estate sale drew people around the block. With no one to pass things onto, I understand Ellen’s sentiments. Luckily, my family used our old stuff for everyday, even silverware. This essay resonated with me on many levels. Thanks! ❤️

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
        Ellen Shriner

        Your parents had SO many wonderful things. I’m glad you kept your favorites. Letting go of the stuff is hard, but for me what’s even harder is accepting that my sons don’t have the memories to draw on.

    5. Eliza Waters Avatar
      Eliza Waters

      It’s a different world now, for sure. I can’t help but think we’ve lost something of value, the least of which is the value of fine things and cherished company.

      1. Ellen Shriner Avatar
        Ellen Shriner

        I still do like the idea of making the table look nice, but I’ve broadened my sense of what occasions call for it. However, I agree with you about losing something of value when we let go of fine things–sometimes convenience is over-rated.

  • One Person Can Make a Difference

    Elizabeth di Grazia's avatar

    Elizabeth di Grazia

    One person can make a difference.

    Aunt Kate did.

    My Aunt died 30 years ago but it is her that comforts me. I imagine me sitting next to her, wrapping myself around her ham of an arm and never letting go. She loved me. That I know. I could see it in her worried eyes. I could feel it in her nervous energy. She wasn’t perfect, neither was I in our relationship. In my early twenties she had asked me to meet her at a wake for a dear friend of hers. I told her that I would but then I didn’t show. I had my excuses. I was too tired. I had worked long hours on the night shift into the morning. I was exhausted and needed sleep. I couldn’t summon the energy to dress into nice clothes, navigate through the cold wintry weather, and step into the funeral home. She asked me later that day where I was. I could hear her disappointment. I held the phone to my ear, imagined her waiting for me. My aunt who didn’t ask anything of me but this one time, who counted on me to be there for her.

    Aunt Kate was a caretaker of her siblings throughout her life, before her service in the army and after. She never married.

    It was her boyfriend from days gone by that had passed away and I didn’t show. My one unforgiveable regret.

    She must have forgiven me because as she lay dying at age 83, she visited me though we were miles apart. Her white shadowy spirit passed through the room. I was kneeling at my bedside, sobbing because I knew that I would never make it to her in time.

    At that moment, my mother called. “Aunt Kate died,” she said.

    “I know.” I felt oddly comforted by Aunt Kate’s presence. By her choice to see me before she departed this life. She recognized my love for her. “I know,” she was saying to me. “I know.”

    It’s because of Aunt Kate that I live my life differently. I show up for people that I care about though I may be too tired, too exhausted, too busy, and the drive too far.

    I went to Aunt Kate’s gravesite on the anniversary of her death. She would have liked that I thought of her and put flowers at her headstone. She would have liked that I pulled two of the flowers from the bouquet and put one on each side of her at her neighbor’s graves though neither of us knew them. She would have liked that I showed up though it was impossibly hard to find her grave at Fort Snelling even though I had been there before. It was cold. It was windy. I had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t give up. She didn’t give up on me.

    It’s her that comforts me even now.

    2 responses to “One Person Can Make a Difference”

    1. Ann Coleman Avatar
      Ann Coleman

      Talk about enduring love! Thanks for sharing this with us.

    2. Jody diGrazia Avatar
      Jody diGrazia

      I love your story!

      ________________________________

Recent Posts

  • Hamburger Soup

    A bowl of homemade soup could create a few minutes of comfort in this difficult winter of 2025-2026.

    cmkraack's avatar

    by

    cmkraack

  • Choosing to Believe

    A few weeks ago, I visited Pearl Harbor and the USS Arizona memorial. I wasn’t sure what to expect. My father was in the Navy during WWII at Normandy and later in the Pacific. I wanted to honor his service and the legacy of my parents’ generation who sacrificed and died to preserve our democracy. I…

    Ellen Shriner's avatar

    by

    Ellen Shriner

  • Moving On

    “Crystel’s carrying the dining room table out of the house!” Jody said, a note of panic in her voice. “Now the chairs!” Quietly, I felt proud of Crystel. She was going ahead with gumption, emptying our house while we were in Florida, not asking permission, not making a fuss. Jody kept tabs on the coming…

    Elizabeth di Grazia's avatar

    by

    Elizabeth di Grazia