Things I learned from my mother (because she is so smart)
Tuesday, March 3, 2009 at 1:00AM in Louise Ure
By Louise Ure
I buried my mother last Friday.
It went about as well as those kind of things can go. In his eulogy, the priest said that he had another funeral to do in two hours, and that one was for a three-month-old baby so how bad could we feel about burying a 93-year old?
Pretty bad, I could have told him.
Holy Hope Cemetery is one of Tucson’s oldest, first populated back before Arizona was a State or a Territory. Before the Gadsden Purchase and during the time Tucson was part of Mexico. That probably doesn’t sound very old to my European or East Coast friends, but by Arizona standards, it’s Paleolithic.
When I was growing up, we’d go visit the family graves once a year on Memorial Day. I never saw a Memorial Day that was cooler than 110 degrees. We’d cut bunches of oleander – the only flowering plant we had – and stuff the stems into Sanborn coffee can/vases. A bucket of water would be braced between a child’s legs to keep it steady in the car.
There were no trees or grass at Holy Hope in those days so the marble angels and squared off grave markers sat flat on hard-packed desert dirt. We’d kneel as long as we could on the stone curbs that marked our area, bony knees burning and arms itching from our poisonous floral offerings. Our family names were at first the more foreign sounding Slaviero or Cosamini. Later family deaths had more American sounding names. Counter. Sellers. Ure.
There’s grass there now, but not the picture perfect kind you’d hope for in a cemetery named Hope. Stubbly, yellow brown and choked with stickers and small stones for moral support.
It was ninety degrees when we buried her. Better than my remembered Memorial Days, and she always did love the heat. They’d laid out a swatch of bright green Astroturf where the casket was and set up a small white tent and two rows of folding chairs. The rest of the attendees stood in the sun. But the tent wasn’t big enough to offer any shade and the Astroturf looked like a cheap toupee purchased long ago for a man who now has gray hair.
My 94-year old aunt sat alone in the first row, saying goodbye to her little sister and last original family member. I sat behind her so that I could wrap my arms around her. I didn’t want to tell her that they’d set up the chairs and the Astroturf so that my feet were resting on my father’s grave and I was sitting on my brother’s.
Never willing to recognize her own native insights and intelligence, my mother often told us, “It’s a good thing you got your father’s brains.” We always disagreed. Finally, fifteen years ago I sent her a list called “Things I learned from my mother (because she is so smart).”
I read part of that list as I stood behind the casket.
“Things I learned from my mother (because she is so smart).”
1. Whistle. My mother had a whistle that could carry harmony in a song or mimic a bird or call children from three blocks away. And I learned that, to a child, a Mother’s whistle is the loudest sound in the world.
2. Happiness is having everything you want. And you can have everything you want, if you don’t want anything you can’t have.
3. Don’t sweat the small stuff. You’re only as big as the things you let bother you, and letting something bother gives someone else control over you.
4. Turn the utensils around in your kitchen drawer so that you can see what they are. Handles all look alike.
5. It is possible to love all your children and grandchildren equally. There are no favorites when it’s unconditional love.
6. Save a little every week. You’ll be surprised at how quickly it adds up. And having a passbook at a bank is more fun than using an ATM.
7. Appreciate other cultures. Speak Spanish with the right pronunciation. It is a part of our heritage not to be forgotten.
8. Write it down. If it’s not on a list it won’t happen.
9. Love words. Not just the crossword puzzle kind but all those that make the mouth sizzle and shiver. Appreciate where they came from and the joy of how they sound.
10. Assume the best of everyone. You’ll be disappointed less than half the time.
Native Americans from Arizona (the Hopis? the Papagos?) believe that the arrival of a hummingbird signals a departed soul returning to say goodbye. On the day I left, a small hummingbird hovered at eye level near a mesquite tree to my left. I swear it had a shock of white feathers just at the crown of its head.
Rest in peace, Little Bird. You taught us well.
1916-2009
Thank you all for such kind words two weeks ago when JT offered to share my sad news on her blog day. It means a great deal to me.
Today we think happier thoughts. Tell me, my 'Rati friends, what's the thing you're most proud of your mother teaching you?
LU
Reader Comments (58)
"What's the thing you're most proud of your mother teaching you?"
To read, and to love reading.
I also am lucky to have a very smart mother, from whom I continue to learn many things. But one of the most important, I think, is that every person can teach us something. She taught adults for years--GED prep, reading and writing to people who could do neither, English as a second language--teaching Iranians, and others, to speak with a Southern accent.
What seemed to satisfy her most was not what she was able to teach her students, but what her students were able to teach her.
Thanks for the opportunity to talk about our mothers.
My mom taught by example. Her biggest lesson...Respect for others. She was big on The Golden Rule.
Something I'm afraid our society is losing.
My mother taught me the love of reading. My dad has come to reading late in life, after retirement, and didn't really value it until then. My mom took us to the library regularly. She read to us (I particularly remember the Francis book about bread and jam). She had stacks of books by her bedside (gothic romances then) so I get my TBR habit from her. Now we share a love of reading mysteries. We live in the same town so we share books a lot but every phone call (about every other day) consists of what we're reading. I guess book addiction is genetic. :)
Karen, I have a picture of your mother in mind now. And I adore the notion of Iranians with Southern accents! There's a character study in there, I think.
My mother taught me many things while she was alive and some in death.
Among them:a love of reading; she was also the first person who actively encouraged me to write.
an appreciation of the beauty around me -- both natural and human made. From her I learned to see the glory of a blue sky gleaned through the stark branches of a winter tree.
And because she was such an angry person, she taught me what that anger can do over time. It was a lesson she didn't mean to teach, but it proved invaluable nonetheless.
My heart is with you, my friend.
My mom taught me a love of reading and words, of taking the time to tell a story and listen to others', of the value of humor in even the darkest moment, and of loving so much, it's nearly an ache, but worth every effort.
And the anger lesson ... oh yes, mothers also teach us by example, even when they don't mean to.
Cara, to be able to give your mother a book -- or a flower -- and receive a smile in return is my idea of happiness.
Keep eating the inside of the pie, my dear.
Toni, my mom used to make me an extra bowl of lemon pie filling for just that reason!
And I'm going home tonight and arrange my silverware drawer pursuant to #4. What a grand idea!
You are your Mother's gift to us all, Louise, and I know your memories of her will help you through the grieving process.
Janine
Things my mother taught me:
Don't let your jib luff.
Stay with the boat if you capsize, and never put any kind of weights in your pockets, under your lifejacket, because that's how Chris Neff drowned.
A marriage isn't over when you'd rather be with someone else, it's over when you'd rather be by yourself for the rest of your life.
If you can't think of anything to say, ask the other person about him or herself. They'd rather talk about that anyway, no matter how witty you think you are.
How to use fingerbowls, and that when Will Rogers drank his, Queen Victoria drank hers so he wouldn't be embarrassed.
Other stuff too, but that's what first comes to mind.
Love to you, Louise.
I'm a big believer in signs, and I think that's one thing I got from my mom. She gave me many things - tolerance, patience, a love of reading, but the superstitions are something that really draw us together. Say Bunny Rabbits on the first day of the month, lift your feet going over railroad tracks so you don't lose your lover, blow a kiss at a yellow light so it won't turn red, throw salt over your left shoulder, always enter a new home with bread, salt and a bible, so you don't go hungry, your life is seasoned and your soul shriven.
She always said the women in my family were witches. As a child, when the phone rang and I knew who it was, I was entranced with the idea. As an adult, I see that it's sometimes more about being attuned to your surroundings, being open and willing to expect the unexpected, to believe in your soul when you see something you think might be telling you something.
Dusty saw my belief in this firsthand in Chicago. It may not have helped, but I believed every word I told him. The hummingbird was most definitely your mother, letting you know she's out of pain now. What a wonderful sign.
May you rest in peace, Jeanne. And may you, Louise, know the joy of being loved, today and every day.
And Janine, your mother with her smiles sounds like a fine woman. I suppose mom's advice would work equally well for the silverware drawer but she used it most judiciously for the kitchen utensils. Spatula blade out, big spoon facing you, etc. It's only a problem when you grab the knives.
We followed all those same superstitions in my house, plus others like not putting a hat on the bed or leaving the house by a different door than you entered. And if you drop a spoon it means a woman will visit. But I've never heard the one about the yellow lights. I'm now going to adopt it.
The thing I will always remember about my mother was that she raised me to be independent. It's okay to accept help from someone, but when you allow yourself to rely on anyone else it becomes a dependency no different than an unhealthy addiction, and you can't stand on your own two feet.
As always, your post is poignant and thought-provoking. What a wonderful way to celebrate your mother's life.
I'm with Cornelia in that I shall shortly be rearranging my cultery drawer. And yeah, Pari, I probably would have punched the priest, too ...
My mother was only 18 when I was born, so she has yet to be raised to the heights of elderly reverence. I always hoped she'd teach me how to drive a forklift truck, but I guess I missed out on that one.
What else has she taught me? Never ask a man to do anything when he's hungry. Always clean the bath before you get out of it. And if you think that overtaking gap is a little small, put your foot down and go for it anyway ... ;-]
Jake, she made you strong. That's clear in all the correspondence we've seen from you here. And I'll bet she's proud of you.
One of the most important things my mother has taught me, and continues to teach, is how to laugh out loud. Even at things others don't really see the humor in. Laugh loudly and boisterously and enjoy it.
and to say the word "shit." only when appropriate, of course.
Two very important things I learned from my mom. One: She gave me the foundation to become a decent cook.
And two (and perhaps more importantly): she was the one who inspired me to write (she worked for a magazine years ago in the Philippines)
Love ya, Mom!
My mom is an infinitely patient person. While she didn't pass that trait on to me, she needed the patience in dealing with me. Unconditional love comes from mothers. Of everything, though, the one thing I'll always appreciate is that my mom never once told me to put the book down and turn off the light because I had school the next day.
And Judy, what a litany of love from that fine lady. I particularly like the crossed legs on the barstool.
And your minister? Hardly a Christian. I hope his cockles will be singed while he waits for entrance to the Pearly Gates.
Allison, you seem the most patient of souls! And I love the fact that she didn't tell you to turn off the light. (Just like I love Cornelia's mother waving from the front door and telling her children "Talk to strangers!")
My mum's been gone 10 years and I'm still aching for her presence, her counsel and her companionship.
Deepest sympathies for your loss, Katherine. 91 or 23, it hurts just as deeply.
When my father died, my godfather told me to go on and be the best person I could be and my father would never really die. Clearly, you've been doing that already for years. It only helps a little, but it does, somehow.
My mother's greatest lesson to me?That it's better to be different and be yourself than try to become the checked box the world asks for.
You're in my prayers.
My mother has always been an avid reader.She drove us to the library at least once a week.I became a librarian.My sister became a writer.
Mom is very proud of both of us.
We are fortunate to have had those wonderful mothers, and we will never, ever let them go. They will always be with us. Your mother sounded like a delightful lady.
Lisa, your godfather was right. As long as you live for yourself (keeping your father in mind) he will live forever.
BKS: I can't imagine 15 years without her. Can you teach me how to do that?
My mother has been gone for many years now, and to this day I think of all the questions that I didn't ask her. I would like to have had the chance to know her as one woman knows another, but it was not to be.
What did she whisper to me . . .Always have your own money.If you don't have a fever, you're not sick.And read, read, read.
What did my mother teach me? To love reading. To love words. To love music.She also (inadvertently) taught me: Always be in a position to support yourself and your family. Always.
My mom taught me to love books, to be willing to try new things and go new places, and to talk to strangers because sometimes they need it. She's been gone over a decade, and I miss her every day.
You have given a beautiful tribute to your mother here, but I suspect the true measure of your tribute to her is you yourself. You are most precious and generous, my dear.
The grief will take you suddenly and unexpectedly for a while, and that's how it should be. I found that those were the times when I had long talks -- through tears -- with my mother. And I know she listened. Yours will too.
BUT -
This is a lovely topic and lovely ongoing tribute to your mother, LU.
I'm not really very good at conflict but very time I face any kind of bully or irrational opposition, I open my mouth and my mother's voice comes out. She is so much stronger than I am, but I am somehow able to channel her in those moments when I need her.
My mother taught me how to flirt. Not consciously at all! Really, she will talk to ANYONE, and they end up feeling good about themselves, and always go away from the encounter glowing and maybe just a little flustered, in the best possible way.
She and my father loved dancing and parties so it made all of us kids rabid to be adults and have that kind of fun.
And she took us to art museums all the time. She told me - "If you train yourself to see art and beauty in anything you look at, you'll have a great life no matter what your circumstances."
All of that - priceless.
Ann, your mother has given you both practical and inspirational advice. You got the whole package rolled up in one big hug.
And Alex, she may have taught you how to flirt (and what an apt student you are!) but she also taught you how to make friends at the same time. Priceless advice, indeed.