A LITTLE LOCAL COLOR

It’s Mother’s Day Weekend and I miss my mom. Supportive, funny, interested in everything, and a good listener—perfect strangers would stop her on the street and tell her their problems (used to drive me crazy when I was a kid.) She was an avid reader and the library was a second home to us. I was told stories whenever it rained—family stories and I imagine her stories led me to write my own.

My grandparents and their oldest children came to America escaping the pogroms against the Jews in Russia. The eldest child, my Aunt Betty was responsible for their escape. According to mom, they were hidden by a countess who couldn’t have children and had become very fond of my aunt. The rest of the family agreed but they said their savior was a neighbor not royalty. I’ve always liked my mother’s version better—she tended to add what she called “A little local color.”

Another tale was about playing with my Uncle Johnny in a field near their house in Rhode Island. Mom was wearing a red dress and they attracted the notice of a bull. They were saved by Veterans living in a Home who gave them milk and cookies and thoroughly impressed my mother. After my uncle served in the army, she told him he would now always be able to live at that Veteran’s Home.

Mom had a boyfriend who gave her a box of chocolates whenever they dated. By the time mother returned from the date the chocolates were gone—there were seven children in the family. She decided to hide the candy in the piano. Didn’t work.

She had a job selling hats and was quite successful. The neighborhood housed working class people and the shop sold hats that would meet their budget. Mom made every woman feel like a Vogue model and they returned to the shop whenever they needed a hat.

When I write fiction I try to add a little extra added color and I wish that my mother was here to read each story.

Thanks Mom.

FAMILY STORIES

   

    Mother's day is Sunday and I miss my mom. She's been gone awhile now and I remember the good times, the fabulous stories she told, the encouragement she always gave me and the woman I wish was here so I could share the stories I make up with her.
     When I was a little girl, she always made up tales to pass the time on rainy days and told me, "true yarns," about the family. Mom would never hesitate when it came to adding local color. For a while she sold inexpensive hats to make a few extra dollars and she was quite the salesperson. She'd adjust the hat on the customer and tell her how becoming it was. Tilt the hat in another direction and encourage the lady to look in the mirror. "You look just like the model in Vogue, that's the way she wears the hat." The customer always bought the hat, sometimes two or three and returned often to buy more.
     Mom grew up in Rhode Island and told me how she and my Uncle Johnny were crossing a field when a bull attracted by her red dress began to chase them. They ran faster and faster and took refuge in the Old Soldiers Home where they were served cookies and milk. After my uncle returned from the war, mom told him he would always be able to live at that home when he was old and frail.
     There was the story about the landlord of the little house that they rented visiting them at Thanksgiving. Grandpa--a new immigrant with seven children--thought the landlord wuld disposess them. Instead, he gifted grandpa with seven chickens--one for each child.
     My favorite story is the one mom told about the Russian Countess who had no children of her own and took a great liking to my Aunt Betty. When the Cossacks rode through their town, the Countess hid my grandparents and Aunt Betty until they could escape to America--the promised land. My cousin said it was a neighbor who hid the family but I like the story much better the way my mother told it.

Family stories, anyone?

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

Elise