What Interested My Mom

On this Mother’s Day, I’d like to explore interests my mom had. She was a whiz-bang at pinochle. When my brother and I were old enough to understand the game, she taught us how to play. Then the four of us—Mom, Dad, my brother, and I—would play one or two evenings a week. Once a couple of hands had been played, she’d know what was in all our hands. She was, as Dad said, “as sharp as a tack!”

On other evenings, we’d play Monopoly as a family or listen to the radio. All of us enjoyed the comedians of the 1940s. If my brother and I had homework or Dad needed to examine blueprints for his job, Mom would sit and play solitaire or read. I picture her still, with the lamp light shining on her book as she turned the pages.

Mom was an avid reader, especially of historical fiction. On Saturday she had our car to herself. She’d drive uptown to the library and bring home a stack of books—always the latest historical fiction, plus books on gardening, embroidery, animal husbandry, and card playing.

I can remember seeing names like Graves, du Maurier, Llewellyn, van Wyck Mason, Roberts, Hilton, Ferber, Buck, and Douglas among her weekly stack of books. To write in a book or— horror of horrors—to scribble with a crayon was a punishable offense. She’d send my brother or me to sit in the corner and think about the wonder of stories.

Those historical novels gave her so much information about past centuries, eras, occupations, discoveries. About wars, revolutions, and luminaries. Knowing all this and being Irish meant that Mom was a great storyteller. On any trip into town or over to my grandmother’s she could keep my brother and I enthralled with her storytelling.

She loved to sing. Coming home from school, I always entered the house and heard a song coming from the kitchen—songs by Cole Porter, Hart, Gershwin; songs from the twenties and thirties; songs by Frankie and Bing. Mom so loved singing that she sang as she cooked, cleaned, gardened . . . as she did everything . . . and she welcomed my brother and I singing along with her

Both Dad and Mom enjoyed fishing. This posting’s photo was taken by a couple with whom they vacationed back in 1932. They traveled westward to Arizona to see the Painted Desert and fished along the way. Both of them continued to fish after my brother and I were born and after we both grew up and left home. Dad had more patience when they fished; Mom had more luck. “The luck of the Irish,” Dad said.

Peace

Postscript:

Several weeks ago, Dr. Kathy McCoy wrote a review of “Prayer Wasn’t Enough” on her blog: “Living Fully in Midlife and Beyond.” Kathy’s postings cover “emotional issues, health, sexuality, marriage, love relationships, parents, retirement planning and more.” She has been a practicing psychologist for many years and has published several books that reflect those concerns. Her postings often speak to the experiences I’m having as I age. Yesterday she did a podcast about “Prayer Wasn’t Enough.” If you have the time and inclination, click here to listen. The 8-minute podcast segues from Kathy’s youthful thoughts about the convent to the reality of the memoir itself.

This past Monday, a second blogger—Betsy Adams—posted an enthusiastic review of the memoir on Facebook and on her blog: “Joyful Reflections.” Reading it made me grin at how she captured the personality of a young Dee Ready. Click here if you have the time to read a few more words about the memoir.