Happy Mothers’ Day

Happy Mothers’ Day to the best mother ever.  Mine.

I know that Mothers’ Day is celebrated on a Sunday in May, but since I’ve reached a certain age I give myself permission to celebrate whatever I want to and whenever I like.  I don’t need to please either my parents or an employer since Mom and Dad are no longer here, and I work for myself.

My mother was born on March 15, 1912, in a suburb of New York City. Her father was a photographer, although he seemed to prefer fishing to taking portraits.  At the age of eight my mom often filled in for him when he was away from his studio.  In his absence, she took the portrait photos herself, then later scheduled a “reshoot” with her father.

She was also many years ahead of her time. In the 1930’s, when relatively few women even attended college, she earned a master’s degree from Hunter College.  She also played the trumpet professionally in vaudeville shows with an all-woman band. I still have her silver trumpet that I treasure to this day.

Mom was determined to marry a man who, unlike her father, was strong and decisive.  In that regard she chose exceedingly well. My dad, especially in his younger years, was – and I put this politely – firm in his views.  Especially about how to raise children.  But I’ll leave that for another blog.

When I was a child, I spent each day after school in the kitchen with my mom.  I loved chatting with her as she cooked dinner and I prepared a snack for myself. Sometimes I’d help her, but often we’d just talk – from 3:30 pm until dinner was served — promptly at 5:30.  I hold happy memories of the times my mom and I shared.  I suppose that’s one reason, among many, that I love food. In fact, I like food so much that Daveen tells me she’s encouraged to eat more herself just because I enjoy my meal so much.  I say, “Why not?” – I might as well be enthusiastic about something I do every day.

So today I’m remembering you, Mom, and your support and nurturing as well as our many outings to the Los Angeles Zoo.  Now that my daughter and 2-year-old granddaughter are living with us I can better appreciate the constant hard work and responsibility of parenting.

To my readers — if you would like to celebrate someone or something special today, for any reason, be my guest.  Today is a great day to rejoice in an event of your own making.

Alan