Come outside and look at Saturn

Come Outside and Look at Saturn

By Valerie Adair Slater

“Come outside and look at Saturn” with her graceful smile, was my cue I’d taken self-absorption too far. I’d reply with an eye roll but I always met her at the telescope to “see the bigger picture” and talk. When she could get a word in edgewise, she’d weave in her favorite advice. “Go put your feet in the sand or paint something but don’t wallow when there’re solutions” and we'd sit silently under the stars thinking about it.

I’m sure I became a healthy Chef because she hated the domestic expectations of the kitchen. She collected gadgets through the '80s in hopes of simplifying the process but it pissed her off there were just more parts to clean.

She was liberated from her servitude through a divorce and the intervention of the frozen dinner. The freezer was full of them, compartmentalized, portion-controlled, formed aluminum trays. Two trays each were required as the portions were way too small. This line of thought and an overload of dead calories eventually lead to the dieting portion of our family history. But, that’s another story altogether.

Stefani was a conservative, interested in local politics, women’s rights, me and Tam, and making life fun in between her three jobs. I had no idea we were poor after the divorce. My ballerina bedroom she made out of sheets and a pink rug from a garage sale. Our vacations were road trips with the dog in cheesy hotels along Highway 1 to visit family in Southern California. Turns out, almost everything we did was free in some beautiful spot in nature or staying with friends.

There’s a lot I don’t remember except for the fun and all the laughing we did together. Tam and I’ll never forget her streaking through the living room with nothing on but a shower cap. We completely forgot what we were fighting about as she ran back down the hall. It was the '70s so it wasn't completely inappropriate. But, mom was such a square, it was a riot!

When I was nineteen, she told me how difficult her single years were between dad and the love of her life and third husband. There was a second husband but after six months we were packed and on the road to Los Angeles to live with her Sister and “regroup”.

Aunt Natalie lived near the airport where my first day of middle school was also the first day of a massive racial social experiment. Turns out the kids on my side of the neighborhood could remain at our school but everyone else was bused over to the black community to learn. This year, three-quarters of the students would be black kids bussed in from Watts. It seemed, everybody but the new kid was all in a buzz about it.

A new school is already torture for any kid. The first few weeks are boot camp of which there is no preparation. After that, it’s politics and pecking order like in every mammal community. And in middle school, you can also get eaten alive. I was unaware of an entire adult layer of drama playing out on the news, through L.A. County, and really, all over the world. It was a big deal apparently, of which she made little mention.

Absolutely sure that no team was going to pick me for their side, I panicked. There was a pod of smart-ass surfers left in the pack, friends of my asshole cousin. And I knew the black girls at the Mall were WAY more confident than what I could keep up with. Mom always had a solution and this one was brilliant.

She’d always applauded my god-given dramatic skills,, and quick comedic wit. We had a record player and sock dancing in the kitchen was highly encouraged. The next day P.E. class would be our first “dance day” and I was totally freaking. She handed me lunch money and a large paper bag and pointed towards school and said, “be you and have a great day”.

I only had three collections that dominated my cinder block shelving unit. An altar merely to elevate the record player, I displayed all of my shells, and the entire record collections of Elton John, and the Jackson Five.

Surely I was sweating as my arm darted into the air to go first. I knew I looked a mess cus all the girls giggled, except for the two other white girls who looked like they’d just dodged a bullet. I was pretty fat so with the body block, no one could see what I was pulling out of the bag. That slow-motion thing kicked in again as I pressed down the vinyl, and placed the needle in the groove. On the second beat, with eyes closed, I spun around on my socks and just let it all go.

The first time you hear a gymnasium full of black girls go, “oooOOHHH” and then you open your eyes and see they’re all smiling at you, it’s a proud moment that puts a real curve in your back. I’m pretty sure it was because I always changed the channel from American Bandstand to Soul Train. From that first “dance day”, I had girlfriends because I took mom's advice so she agreed to take mine and started watching Soul Train with me.

After “regrouping” and mom meeting Mr. Right out disco dancing, we moved out to the beach and to another massive cultural shift. Mom was a mom to everyone who needed one. All of my girlfriends loved her capacity to listen and understand. She let me drink a glass of wine with dinner but she wasn’t a “party mom” and everyone respected that.

When my best friend got pregnant and dumped on the same weekend, Stefani was there for her. They talked alone in the garden for the afternoon with books and brochures and lots of crying. At seventeen and a half, my friend couldn't tell her high profile fundamentalist parents so mom took her to her gynecologist and paid for her abortion.

You can judge, but my girlfriend made an educated choice, and mom honored her humanity and liberty aside from her own personal beliefs. After all, Plan B was an illegal abortion over the border and mom wasn’t having any of that.

Ladies Night was “code-word” for any reason to get together with girlfriends. Mom’s great idea started with dinner and each of us invited friends. Once or twice a month there would be a call for Ladies Night whether it was for brunch in her garden or a dinner at a local restaurant. She always knew if someone couldn’t afford it. She’d discreetly encourage her to order what she wanted with a smile and it was taken care of.

Attendance ebbed and flowed around boyfriends, vacations, and life’s changes. I felt beautiful sitting around that table of diversity and power. Women are so cool when they're supportive and open. Those Girl-Power memories come into focus while hearing her laughter all through this story.

With a new blended family, Mom looked for reasons for celebration and sent out invites for every one of them. We each brought a date, the buffet was endless and my stepdad hosted the bar and Bar-b-que simultaneously at every event. It was a glorious sea of bell bottoms, CHIPS sunglasses (AKA; Biden sunglasses) all to a playlist ranging from Englebert Humperdinck to the Rolling Stones, Some Girls album.

She was the glue and made life bitchin wherever she could. At every family gift exchange, Mom would ask a brother to help her in a back room and they’d emerge with gifts for everyone’s guests. While we were all caught up in the flurry of icing beer she’d been in her office glittering names on stockings and shopping out of her “gift closet”.

Everyone felt important and welcomed and full. These were the most glorious times of my polaroid memories. I’m sure a few old friends find their glitter stocking at the bottom of the Christmas bin and still whisper, “thank you, Stef”.

So many of the people in those memories are gone now. My girlfriend ended up having a had a boddle of kids with a loving husband. And I introduced my stepdad to a friend’s mom a couple of years after Mom died.

I still meet mom every day when I stand at the mirror, or looking into the face of my Sister. Losing her was the rug that shifted my confidence and everything I thought I knew.

This year I’ve felt more broken than I can remember. I know I said that about every brokenhearted chapter but, I have to admit this has been an unexpected curveball for everyone on the Planet.

Politics, COVID, and my husband passing away in August on a “bucket list” hike in the Redwoods talk about a curveball. And through it all, I’ve been rewriting my resume and just trying to keep away from the edge of the rabbit hole.

I took on this writing challenge because this year I really needed to remember Mom, what she invested into my character, and the values she lived out loud.

When Tam and I talk from across the state comparing news, ignorance, and attitudes we circle back, every time, to values and how grateful we are that Stefani was our mom. It’s hard to talk about her after 30 years now and I can barely listen to Engelbert Humperdinck without sobbing. But every one of those memories lingers with a big smile.

I laughed like a pirate writing this story and I cried like one too. I’m resilient, adaptable, and lean on a bizarre sense of humor because of you, Mom. You influenced everything that I feel, how I love others, and who I believe that I am.

It didn’t feel like it when you needed to “regroup", but you did all the right things. You shared your weaknesses, you loved us deeply, and you taught us how to laugh from our bellies. Tam and I are both honored you were chosen as our teacher and I guess this is just a small thank you.

I love you soo much. We had such a great run.

We’ll meet you later over Seychelles for Tea and Ice Cream and we’ll catch up!