One woman's quest to remember her mother and find herself. I am who I am, in very large part, because I am my mother's daughter. But she never wrote down her stories like I wished she had. So, this is where I will tell my stories before it's too late.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

3 things i remember about mom & dad's room

1) they painted it this great yellow color they called "gold" even though it wasn't shiny

2) the big old box fan that was so big that it was twice as tall as me and i was instructed to never EVER climb it or stick my hand in it while the fabric covered cord was plugged in. they repeatedly walked me over to the end of the cord, showed me the prongs and laid it on the floor. they said, "if it's sleeping on the floor, like this, then you can play with the fan. if it's awake and in the wall, never EVER play with the fan." Clearly these were the days before any kind of child safety requirements. so when Mom and i went down for our naps and i'd wuffed her to sleep, i'd slide off the bed and over to the fan with its three giant mesmerizing blades. check to see if the cord is sleeping, like Mom. it is. okay. then crank hard on one of the cool metal blades and watch them spin. i liked how the words in the center became a single stripe going round and round. i liked how my voice sounded when i sang into its breeze. i liked the simple wooden box that housed the fan itself and i especially liked the two parallel circles in the front and back that allowed air to pass through, so quietly. ooh, i loved that fan.

3) one summer bees or hornets or wasps or something built their nest right up against the bedroom window, and even though Dad was allergic and therefore terrified of Things That Sting, it was allowed to stay for a little while so we could watch it. their little society was so busy and industrious and we felt rather voyeuristic watching their lives in all their little apartments like that. it was a fascinating science experiment right there in the window.

plus, this bonus memory

4) that one winter when the beehive window was broken, it started snowing before we'd gotten around to fixing it. waking up to snow is always magical, even in NY where it always snows in winter, but on that particular morning, Mom woke us up to the magic of a perfect pile of snow on the bedroom floor below the window.

oh, and this one, too

5) as an adult one time i asked my mom, "hey, whatever happened to that yellow Easter dress I used to have?" "What yellow Easter dress?" "You know, that little yellow one with the puffy sleeves and the frilly underpants?" Her eyes bugged out, "You can't possibly remember that dress. You were too little." "Well, I do. It was hanging up on the back of your bedroom door." And I gestured as if the hook on the door were impossibly high. i wore that dress when i was 1 1/2 and there are no pictures of me in it.