mothers and daughters and the empty nest

Memory flooded my mind these weeks. Perhaps leisure during Labor Day Weekend allows that for some of us. This holiday, a century old acknowledgment for those who labor around us, building and mending our structures and infrastructures, three days that neatly divide summer from fall, freedom days from the job-filled days, a weekend when 35 million people hit the road or take to the skies for one last fling, or in the case of many travelers, bring their college students to their respective college; regardless, that long weekend filled me with images. It wasn’t all that long ago that I too drove the highways for that task, and although I would say I eventually got better at those goodbyes, I am reminded of a first one, many years ago, made easier by the wisdom of my mother.

Mothers and their daughters. I do suppose one might say, fathers and sons, but for me, as a daughter and a mother, these two relationships have loomed large. If fact the complexity is still unfolding for me, the relationship I had with my mother, the one I still forge with my daughter. Some of my mother’s finest gifts took years to appreciate. Remembering a Labor Day weekend, years ago, me with a SUV packed full with my daughter and her ‘bare essentials’ as a Freshman entering college, and my mother waiting for us in a five star hotel, is certainly one of those gifts.

Continue reading

Little Disruptions

We easily fall into schedule and routine, and for many days are glad to do so, with evenings often as busy as day, papers to score, correspondence to attend to, plans to sort out, even those daily chores to complete before night stumbles into day. And then, as they often do when life gets rolling, disruptions arrive.

img_2872 Continue reading

Mother Talks: #1

Although a fabulous pretender my mother was not a fly by nighter: she was a planner. In August we planned our Christmas gathering, at Christmas we planned our summer reunion. While I begin the task of emptying her scarf drawer, winter closet and filing cabinet, I see that some of her plans weren’t as rock solid as I once thought to be, but compared to who I was at say 15 or even 26, I can state for certain she got me to look forward and plot out a life worth looking back on. My mother usually began our random solitary talks quick to the chase by asking, “What’s your five year plan?” On first hearing, her question was as alien to me as reading Mandarin, maybe even more so.

Continue reading