pilgrimages of remembrance

I read an editorial in today's NY Times where the writer was recalling his trips to a Jewish deli in Cleveland Heights, Ohio where his mom would search out her favorite snacks, Jewish tongue, Pringles, Milano cookies. He goes there still, though she died in 2004.

And as I woke up, lingering in bed a bit with my hubby, recalling our different early memories of Mother's Day, and those we shared with our son when he was small and both our mothers were still with us--I realize now, I was, like the NY Times writer, making a pilgimage of remembrance of my grandmother, my mother, my mother-in-law and my early days of being a mom.

Those are good memories, sweetened by time. I have forgotten arguments I probably had with my mom or sister as we dressed for Church and then to go out to eat with my grandparents in Crystal Lake, Illinois. I have forgotten (mostly), the shifting of rhythms I experienced with my mother-in-law as I learned to include her uncomfortablity with the "holiday" which meant a working day for a waitress, as she used to be, with multiple plates to juggle and few tips to bring home in her pocket.

Memory helps me shift through what I liked and will keep and let go of the rest. I like to focus on the sight, sound and taste of gathering at Reid Park with both of our moms, my sister and her young family and we with ours. We would share friend chicken, potato salad and crisply cut veggies, watermelon and chocolate iced cupcakes, settling in to our lounge chairs or stretching out on blankets to listen to "Music Under the Starts" with the Tucson Pops Orchestra.

I could do that tonight, with just Mark and I under the stars, but the absences on this day, are still too deep to feel. We'll find our own path through the day--a late brunch at Coco's, a movie about Tuscany, a visit to the bookstore, and, if I am lucky, a text from my son who, like his Grandmother Grushka used to have to do, is working a 12 hour day in the restaurant business. Yesterday, I planted new flowers, moved others into new pots that shine crystalline blue in the morning sun. In my own way, I continued on my maternal traditions--rooting for my favorite at the Kentucky Derby and recalling how my Methodist Grandmother Dice used to bend her "no gambling" rule at this one race and bet pennies with us on the ponies.

So, whether you are a mom of the garden, of pets or children--enjoy mothering in your own way and be open to being mothered and loved by others today and everyday.