This summer, the heat is as oppressive as this winter’s weather was interminable. Friday, Kim went out for a run, after her dad told her she’s nuts and came back a minute and a half later, shaking her head, saying, “Dad was right.” There have been at least two confirmed tornados in the New York area. Lindsay and Scott’s tenant, Katrina, comes from Kansas and never saw a tornado; little did she know that she would get the opportunity to see one when she moved here. I’m not complaining, though, because we’ve had more sunny days than I can recall of any summers past. I love the sunshine and the extended daylight. It pervades my soul.
Lindsay counts down the days to the wedding, while I count down the days to my favorite season. It’s difficult to really enjoy this summer, though, because while the number of days diminishes, the things to do increases. Sometimes I feel like the more I do, the further I get from the finish line. Some people make a “to-do” list and check it off; however, that would make me more nervous right now. I don’t really need it because I have Mark yelling at me every day, saying- “Do you know how much we have to do?!!” With 39 days to go, it seems like we have 3900 things to do. And there is a fish tank in my house that is humongous. It is in Lindsay’s room; inside of it are two engagement gifts- her vacuum and toaster oven, still in their boxes. Saturday, I was so frustrated with not making a dent in this never-ending work, I thought of sitting inside that fish tank and just sticking my thumb in my mouth, a sign of “I give up.”
“Why is there a fish tank in her room?” I asked Mark.
“Oh that thing, I had to help lug that thing up to her room. It was a long time ago.”
“I don’t remember. Was I on a business trip?”
“No. I think you were here.”
“I must be losing my mind, then.”
“Probably.”
So, “crazy mother” emerged sometime on Saturday. You know– “crazy mother” is when you’ve had it and you call your children, wherever they are and start screaming at them. Vaguely I remembered Lindsay and Scott wanting a huge fish tank filled with tropical fish in all varieties. I think Lemon Leaf, the place where we had their engagement party inspired them because Scott loves to hang out by the huge fish tank at the entrance and watch the fish. I called Lindsay- she was at her friend’s bridal shower.
“What are you doing with that fish tank?” I asked her, impatiently.
“We’re selling it in the garage sale.”
“Are you kidding me? There is a fish tank sitting in my house, because you are going to sell it in a garage sale? That thing is a monster- who’s going to buy it?” (I have had garage sales- whenever I do, people drive up and ask me for things I don’t have to sell them. And then, they only want to pay 50 cents for anything anyway. For your information, nobody ever asked for a fish tank.)
“Mom, I am at a shower, can we talk about this later?”
“Your grandmother is moving here in less than a week. I need to make room for her and you still have all this stuff up in your room. When are you moving into your house? I can’t believe this is taking so long!”
“Mom, mom. This is not a good time.”
(I’m probably having a nervous breakdown. And she’s telling me this is not a good time.)
“Listen to me. Nanny is moving in next Saturday. I need room. Your stuff is in my way!”
“Alright. I’ll do everything this Monday!”
She hangs up. That’s what children do when “crazy mother” comes out- they tell them what they want to hear and then hang up.
I am supposed to feel better, but I don’t. There is just too much to do. Sunday morning Mark was waiting for three men, who were my three heroes for that day. One was Lenny, who took our enormous 57-inch rear-projection TV, which takes up more space than the fish tank. Another was our friend, Joey, who took our enormous computer desk and bookcase, which was in my mother’s bedroom to be. The third was Paul, our contractor, who finished up the wall. I wondered if any of them wanted a fish tank. No luck, though.
I packed up the room that will be my mother’s bedroom and then headed to my mother’s current bedroom to pack that up. Kim came to help. We spent most of the day, inside, going through my mother’s papers, bills and whatever she had left from 55 years of marriage. I thought of everything she used to have in the house I grew up in on Avenue K, now most of it given away and the rest condensed into one room. Scott and Lindsay are accumulating all their family treasures and my mother is trying to hold on to whatever treasures she still has room for. I see the sunshine, outside, and think to myself this is something to be doing on a rainy day.
Lindsay wants some of my mother’s precious items, for sentimental reasons- to preserve her childhood memories, to keep her grandmother close always. She already reserved a space for my mother’s tea set in her dining room china cabinet. Almost every object I took to pack had a story attached to it that mom shared. But the best story was about the two burgundy-colored antique plates with illustrations of women that reminded me of a Jane Austin novel. My mom always had them hanging on the wall of anywhere she lived. She told us the story attached to the plates- one that I had never heard before-
These plates are very special to me. I’ll tell you how I got them. I was a very young girl, in my early twenties. I worked for Michael’s and Company, a furniture company; it was on Flatbush Avenue and Dean Street, I remember. I used to walk to the bus every day after work and I would pass this gift shop that I would stop and go into all the time. I saw these plates and fell in love with them; there was just something about them- aren’t they beautiful? I wanted them but I wasn’t married or even engaged. So, I thought why would I buy them? But I still went into that store, almost every day, to admire those plates. I must have been in that store looking at those plates at least 20 times. The lady who owned the store, used to look at me and smile. Finally, she said to me, “Why don’t you buy those plates, you love them so much?” I told her, “I’m not married and I live at home with my mother. What would I do with them?” The lady answered, “Give them to your mother and have her hold them for you until you get married.” So, I bought them. They were about $10 each, I think. And I brought them home and my mother put them in her china closet. When I was getting married, my mother took them out of the china closet to give them to me. I said to her, “Mom, they’re yours. I gave them to you.” “No,” she answered, “You love these plates, that’s why you bought them. I want you to take them and put them in your home.” I felt bad, but I loved those plates so much. There’s just something about them, right? I would like Lindsay to have them. Do you think she’ll like them?
In the midst of all this tumult, planning a wedding, moving my daughter out, moving my mother in, this was such a bittersweet moment- the venerable woman talking about a day when she was in her twenties as if it happened last week. Do I think she’ll like them? My daughter, who constantly goes into the gift shop that just opened about a mile away from us, and also admired a plate The Recipe for a Happy Marriage that she just had to have. She still stops in that gift store, frequently, admiring all the decorative pieces that make a house a home. Like grandmother, like granddaughter. Yes, mom, I know she’ll love these plates and all they mean to you.
I looked out the window and noticed that it had been pouring outside. I wondered if I somehow was responsible because of my thoughts that this was an activity more suitable for a rainy day. We felt relieved that we condensed all her papers into one neat pile that we left in a basket on my father’s desk. I could just picture my dad sitting there, as he used to, looking up at me to show me his approval for what we’re doing.
We left with a couple of the boxes and headed home, with a stop-off at the soon to be newlywed’s house. I gave Lindsay the tea set and she immediately washed it and found a place to put it in her china cabinet. It looked like it belonged there. I also gave her my father’s hammer, which she took gleefully, along with a Lenox vase and some of the decorative plates my mom wanted her to have. When I handed her the “Jane Austin ladies” plates, I tried retelling my mom’s story, then finally gave up and said, “Nanny will tell you. But I think you should keep them- they’re part of who your Nanny is.”
All these things we accumulate, our treasure trove of memories and comfort that we take with us as we try to grasp the past and hold it close to our hearts. I consider us lucky to see my mom’s trinkets being handed down to Lindsay to keep that link from generation to generation.
I also consider myself lucky to have my mom coming to live with us just at the threshold of our first daughter beginning her married life. The timing is right.
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