Crimson Red #8562

Crimson Red, Magenta Madness, Coral Reef, Cerise Pie, Berry Cherry, Ruby Redness, French Burgundy, Scarlet Dear Scarlet – shiny multi-colored bottles, with long tapered handles looking like gumball-colored teardrops. To touch them or to eat them? I can’t decide. Lips like Sugar, Drive Him Mad, Get It Girl, You Got This – golden cylindrical tubes of pigmented bliss ready for daily romantic adventures or on-the-sly trysts. Short, squat, thick, tall, and curvy bottles of fragrant aromatic pastry align – like beauty queens anticipating a long-desired crown. A tiny-populated city of adult coquetries lives atop her dresser, patiently waiting. “Pick me,” they whisper.

Jars. Powders. Perfumes. I’d fixate.

Spellbound, I’d touch the shapes and colors in front of her mirror – Silently pleading with the Universe to grow up faster so that I could be initiated into the secret society of Woman.

My Gram is my go-to template for femininity – a bible of womanly knowledge. Without her, I don’t know who I’d be today. Prim and proper with sensible heels and shapely dresses. Dark mahogany waves framing her creamy face, brightly polished fingers, delicate hands, stained lips, a warm smile politely welcoming others, and my favorite detail: her Tennessee drawl.

“HHHHHeeeeeeeellllllllllllllloooooooooooooooOOOOOO,” answering the phone.

Confession: As a child, I would crank-call her number to hear her greeting. Then hang up. Repeat. Again, and again. I loved the charming sing-songy cadence of her voice.

Being a proper Southern Belle, her sentences were always sandwiched with please and thank you. Chicken-fried steak, fried okra, cornbread, collard greens, biscuits with sausage gravy, pecan pie … all remind me of her Southern cooking. The thought of her organized deviled eggs at Easter, warm apple pies with cheddar atop on July Fourth, and her fragrant oatmeal cookies on weekends warm my heart. My job setting the table was most important to her: centered plate, fork on the left, knife, then spoon on the right. Drinking glass at about one o’clock. Take everyone’s drink order before meals and ready the glasses five to seven minutes before eating. Remind others: elbows off the table. Wait for everyone to sit, then begin eating. Polite dinner conversation. Praise the chef. Her lesson – manners taught early, are never forgotten.

Economically challenged, my Gram grew up during the Depression 1929-1933ish. Hard times provided her with a steely determination to be more resourceful – reusing, repurposing, recycling – all byproducts that carried over into her early twenties and beyond. Budgeting, couponing, and making food from scratch were all but a few forms of her sensible accounting, even later in life.

Creativity and initiative were some of her best traits – see a dress in a magazine and make it. This was her idea of a weekend challenge, sometimes tweaking a design for improvement. Painting and redecorating the living room, making drapes on the sewing machine, pulling together the details for a small family celebration … all rewarding projects for her. Her love of craftiness filtered its way into my heart. Five consecutive summers together, ages nine through thirteen, were spent learning how to be a better maker. For this, I am truly thankful. Painting, drawing, embroidery, crafts all made me a better artist today.

After playing several rounds of Canasta or Gin Rummy, she’d sit in her cushy armchair. There she sat wedged in the corner – her now silvery hair set in rollers and protectively capped, her mouth lip-sticked with magenta, with reading glasses devouring a trashy romance novel. Five a day for better health. Living remotely, our television had only three channels – so her coveted collection of movie classics was a form of guilty pleasure trash TV.

“Scarlett, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” admonishes a technicolored Rhett.

“I have not broken your heart – you have broken it, and in breaking it, you have broken mine.” A scorned Heathcliff disparaging his love for a haughty Catherine.

“I wanna be kissed by you, just you. Nobody else but you, aaaaaaaaa-lone.” A curvy Marilyn coos to a cross-dressing Tony Curtis.

"Do you know the worst part? He was trying to seduce me with champagne, domestic champagne." Susan Hayward complains of her love affair with a married man.

Our sweaty, cold drinks, crumpled tissues, swollen dewy faces, and clutched shirts … watching these love stories taught me about cinematic love and storybook romance. Perhaps to this day, I tend to write about flowery love in short stories and poems. I am like a walking chick-flick brimming with gooey mush. It is who I am. It is how I’m built. Consider it a long-lost art. Thank you, Turner classics, Emily Bronte, Marilyn, trashy romance novels, and repressed Victorian literature – I salute you. Thank you, my pleasure boat awaits.

***

My Gram gave way to my mom, and it’s safe to say they are mirror opposites. My mom is to the left of my Gram’s right. Like most children, she wanted to be the polar opposite of her parent. A rebel. Anything that sets her apart to individuate herself from the family unit.

***

Donning a cape, red school shirt in check. Enter Super Mom. A modern-day teaching hero fighting bad spelling and poor grammar. Hooked on math? Yes. Hooked on phonics? Always. She is your school savior. Redeeming poor grades. Rescuing unfinished homework. Erasing bad learning habits. Protecting literacy. Delivering solutions. Liberating the old and celebrating the newly improved student. Every day she helps them inch closer and closer to their success. Only to know, one day, hundreds of her students will return to her school – their faces older and wiser. This time, their children will learn from her. Circle of life.

Books, books everywhere. As a child, I’d run my fingers along their rigid spines. History. Fiction. Anthropology. Sounding out their wordy titles. Admiring their colorful front covers. Culture. Food. Language. To think someone could one day read all of these … Books, books everywhere. Education. Curriculum. Theory. To store all of this information in their head. Nonfiction. Mystery. Fantasy. Books, books everywhere. Children. Young Adult. Art. A person who could read all these works must be smart. Egypt, Egypt, all things Egypt. Cerebral. Knowledgeable. Whip-smart. Able to converse about any topic. And still want to research more, if need be … Amazing.

I wanted to be smart and well-read someday. Everyday. Just like her.

Imposter at first. Emulate, duplicate, replicate. Never stop learning.

When not in a library or teaching students, my mom loved learning about other cultures through food. She would study techniques from cooking shows and attempt them at home. Most results would not always be great, but her willingness to try and her adventurous spirit made her a good sport … earning her gold stars from me. Trying all types of ethnic restaurants was enjoyable for us too in smaller towns and bigger cities.

Animated and charismatic, my mom was fun-to-be-around. Often, she would enjoy my sense of humor and would toss in a well-timed quip. We had good banter. Laughing and making fun of movies and news. We’d laugh and laugh. She taught me not to take myself too seriously, and as a result, I can enjoy my writing more.

Road tripping scored high on her list. Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, yes. Then Phoenix, Las Cruces, El Paso, San Antonio. Cruising through four states to be on time for the holidays was like reading the CliffsNotes to an atlas. I admired this about her. One Christmas, she was heavily into her New Age phase, wrapped in a tie-dye shirt and dream catcher earrings; she gifted me a juicer … then told me we were departing to Four Corners the next day to check out its energy vortex. Sometimes, it’s best to let your mind go, and your spirit will follow.

While organizing her new closet one day, I noticed a stark contrast between her past and present. On one side hung her under-sized slips and camisoles, next to them, her yellowed wedding dress. On the other side hung her t-shirts and shorts, below them, her sandals. She was a byproduct of her mother’s Southern upbringing, but now she was giant steps ahead in another time and space.

My mom was a teen during the sixties. She chose to forgo the dresses and pearls and opt for sweatshirts, cut-offs, and sandals. One could say she was somewhere south of women’s liberation, edging closer and closer … never to burn her bra, but ripe to speak up about women’s rights. She was finding her power.

She married at nineteen. There she sat somewhere between being smacked for speaking her mind to her husband in the mid-to late-sixties, being fired for being too driven at work in the early seventies, and being too out-there for dresses in the late seventies. Women were not allowed a credit card without their husband’s/co-signer’s signature until 1974. They were not allowed to file a police report if they were subjected to domestic abuse until 1994 – the Violence Against Women Act. She was told being a secretary should be enough – something to be proud of daily. Encourage the man, discourage the woman.

Enter: Ruth Bader Ginsberg. A gift from the universe. She started the revolution, sparked the fire, began the war, brought peace, created the law, and documented the change for women today. It’s hard not to become emotional when watching America’s timeline of women’s rights. As a country, we continue to be a work in progress.

Ultimately, after one marriage, two kids, three degrees, the sixties, the Vietnam War, the seventies, then eighties, one divorce, and starting over again and again – she finally found her calling: becoming a teacher. Over the course of twenty-four years, she taught hundreds and hundreds of students. I know she instilled healthy self-esteem and good habits in them. When I look at her teaching career, I can see a great deal of angel work.

***

Mothers come in all forms. My pets have taught me some valuable life lessons. And for this, I am eternally thankful. Yes, they are our fur babies, but they are really great at nurturing us in times of need.

***

My cat, Cocoa, was this beautiful calico-colored senior cat with disco ball eyes and a soft meow. My mom rescued her from a shelter. After being cooped up in a cage for what we think maybe a year and a half, she was morbidly obese and had a bum kneecap that would shift in and out of place. She came into my life when everything for me was raining frogs. She helped pull me through it. Being the sweetest cat that I have ever met – she mothered me well, and in return, I helped her slim down by ten pounds. This roughly took five years but eventually, we arrived. Her youth returned, and she joined our younger cat racing around the house. Her kneecap better and her weight healthy; she looked at me with warm eyes and silently thanked me daily. Sweet kisses, loud purrs, and warm welcomes – she taught me to love my body no matter whatever shape it’s in at the moment. Someday, somebody will come along and love the body you’re in on the outside and the inside. So, prepare yourself.

***

My dog, Sweetpea, was my dog-child. Her love still runs deep and haunts me daily. A fetching black and white Cocker, she was my dreamboat. Once a rescue originally adopted for my mom, instead, she was meant for me. She protected me like a mother. Always looking out for me and attuned to my feelings, she carried me through tough times when dealing with grief. Every day was both a blessing and a gift. She taught me people and pets show up in your life to carry you through the darkness. They hold the light when you are afraid of the dark.

***

Surrounded by strong women, all of my life has shaped me into the individual I am today. Both nature and nurture have pushed and pulled, molded and smoothed, and made me a strong woman of character. Born abroad, I became an American citizen soon afterward – a gift from my mother. My Gram and Mom helped build my value system and taught me the lessons of hard work. My college experiences helped me define my position in life as a changemaker. My design work gave me the skills and tools to break into some exclusive creative industries. These experiences and influences have allowed me to become a valuable member of society: a contributor, an artist, a designer, a writer, and most importantly – a lover of all things life.

***

So, Dear Reader, these are a few life lessons. I treat them as daily vitamins that strengthen my constitution. I want to share them with you if you are without a mother or haven’t seen yours for a while.

Manners are a sign of respecting others. Being treated like a lady is a sign of respecting yourself – Accept nothing less. Steely resilience during difficult times, strong resourcefulness when money is tight, and eagle-eye budgeting skills help make financial dreams a reality. Creativity and initiative will set you apart from others. My all-time favorite: Nothing beats a good love story like your own.

Teaching is a calling. Angel work helps you by helping others. A book a day keeps the mind at bay, so never stop learning. Ever. Knowledge comes from books. Experience comes from life’s opportunities. Be adventurous and keep trying. You are a success every day you rise from bed. The thing about charisma is that you attract people, places, and things into your life. Others will enjoy your energy and humor. Live your life and set an example for others.

***

Next month marks my mom’s ten-year passiversary. It’s been twelve years for my Gram. I work daily to be positive and know I will see them again; for this, I am thankful. They are all around me, everywhere. Protecting. Shouting. Cheering. Watching. And being amused. Where to now? It’s time for me to boss up and write my own story. I just need to begin ... Anywhere.

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