This was written on a Saturday this past winter when it was 12 degrees in Maine….and we did not have enough snow to even bundle up for a quick snow mobile ride in the yard or to sled down our hill. We hunkered down for the day. I played Wordle with my family online, wrote for a leisurely two and half hours, and took the dogs for a walk at the beach so their feet could be slightly warmer on the cold sand. I stopped at our small local grocery store for fresh fish, did a load of laundry, and took a nap. Upon waking, I thought of my mother. How would she have spent this winter day? Or any day, for that matter.

My mother’s day through the eyes of her youngest daughter.

If it were Winter, before Christmas, she’d have lists to accomplish like present wrapping, card writing, cookie baking and delivering, last minute gift sewing, and tree decorating. Take notice – all tasks were to give joy to others. 

After the holidays, with the days stretching in front of us, she sewed or knitted or read her women’s magazines, ripping out new recipes to try or a new craft idea to make as a fundraiser.

She hung clothes out on the line, sometimes with her hands red and raw from the cold. Not using the dryer wasn’t about being green. It was about saving electricity in order to save money.  Even on days with rain in the forecast, she’d hang clothes and chance they’d be dry before the rain came. Many a time, she’d run out to grab them as the first drops fell. On non-windy days or days when the temperature was frigid, items like bath towels and jeans could stand by themselves in the corner when brought in.

If it were Spring, she was outside planting petunia, salvias, and marigolds after the last frost in May. Her portulacas and hen and chicks would have sprouted on their own from the previous year.

The heavy winter curtains, made to keep out as much of the winter wind as possible, came down, and the lighter summer ones were ironed and put up.

If it were Summer, she’d weed and water her flowers first thing in the morning…we only used collected rain water since we had a hand-dug well and didn’t want to run out of water for ourselves.

If it was early summer, she’d pick strawberries and make jam, and in mid-summer, it was time for blueberries to be frozen. If it was late summer, she’d can tomatoes and peaches from my father’s garden.

We had our own raspberry bushes so whatever we couldn’t eat in real time, the birds got. Unless my mother got there first to freeze them.

On weekdays, almost everything was done in the morning, because the soap operas started at 12:30 p.m., right after Douglas Edwards with the noon news on CBS.

She wasn’t idle in front of the TV, tho….

She knitted, crocheted or painted to raise money for the volunteer fire department or the church. I even got an occasional dress for my Barbie out of her handy work. 

If it was close to dinner time, she may bring in a pot of water and a small garbage bag and cutting board to peel and cut up potatoes or carrots.

Auntie, my mother’s older sister and our neighbor, came up sometimes with her own craft work to do and watched the soaps with us. I watched too and always wondered why so many people cheated on their spouses or paused dramatically at the end of their sentences. My mother and aunt explained the history of who used to be married to whom and who was a secret brother, sister, or parent. Soap operas made adult life seem very complicated, and our family very dull.

Sometimes the soap opera story line launched them into talking about real life town drama like the wife-swapping scandal of the early ‘70s. If they didn’t want me to understand something, they’d talk in Slovak. I’m sure they made up an answer when I asked what they said.

If it were Fall, my mother began her prep for the annual church bazaar that she lead for many years. She hosted weekly craft sessions with ladies guild members. She was the youngest by far, probably only home because my parents were in their 40s when I was born. The other ladies easily had 20 years or more on her including my aunt.

Sometimes we traveled across town to someone’s house for the craft session, and I brought a Nancy Drew book to read. What I never did, however, was participate in the crafts. I had no interest then. Now when I struggle to figure out a stitch, I regret having not paid attention to all the experts who had sat around the table.

There were other constants in my mother’s day regardless of the season—all the cooking and cleaning and family birthdays. Daily, my older sisters called my mother to check in. I vowed as a child to never call my mother daily, and I stuck to it. I thought their daily calls showed they were bored, but in retrospect, how could they have been, having three young kids each. I didn’t see it as a devotion to our mother or a bonding over motherhood. Now it is too late for me to call my mother.

She had no electronics to distract her—no games, no texts, no videos to watch. She lived through direct human connection and a passion for others—her family, her community, and anyone whom she hadn’t yet met.

Today is Mother’s Day, and I salute my mother for all of her hard work and love. She is missed.

Today is also the fourteenth of May. My sister’s birthday. Even on Mother’s Day, my mother would have cooked for my sister to celebrate her. Happy birthday, Kathy.

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