A Mom Memory

Today I’m in my favorite City – where I lived for 8 years, and never really left, where I feel an invigoration that belies all of my 64 years.  As I wander, roam, and meander toward the ocean, my thoughts zero in on my life here, and specifically,  on a memory of  a visit from my mom.

She visited me in every place I lived.  When I lived atop the Broadway Tunnel she met me at Caffe Malvina in North Beach, (one of my twelve jobs in my 20’s – topics for another time:) I made her a cappuccino and offered her a piece of torta di zucchini made on the premises.  My mother was much more than a “cook” or “”baker;” she was a “culinary artist,” so it was not up to her impeccable standards of “good.” I chuckle because I can still see the grimace on her face as she explains in broken English all that had gone wrong with this “inedible” product, not caring that the person responsible was standing right there.

After my shift, I drove us home to my flat in my very small Fiat 128.  As we neared our destination, the only place to park was at a 45 degree angle alongside the very steep Broadway Steps. To say that my mom was terrified is  most definitely an understatement, and after a half hour of gentle coaxing, (amidst some laughter, of course,) I was able to convince her that the car would not in fact topple over down the hill, with her in it, when she exited.

Once inside, she set to cleaning – another one of her super powers, (which  I’m proud to say she passed onto me.)  I lived with two college friends, and between their habits, and the numerous friends who would visit – well, let’s just say our abode was a bit on the “casual” side in the category of cleanliness and neatness.  She scoured, scrubbed, wiped, mopped, and organized, all with a look of absolute and pure contentment.

That night as she lay next to me, I shyly informed her that the neighbor upstairs often “entertained” his lady friend, and all that transpired in his bedroom could be heard very clearly below in my bedroom.  When the lovemaking did begin – like clockwork – with the very loudly passionate exclamations, we purposely did not look at each other – though we both wore very distinct smiles.  I continued “reading” for a while, as she immediately rolled over, closed her eyes, pretending to sleep all the while chuckling quietly.

The next morning, while I was still asleep, along with my roommate, Kathy, who had the room downstairs, my mom vacuumed – all the rooms. My roommates were always amused by my mother’s old world antics, and in awe – surprise- wonder – shock – that a parent would actually come and clean!!!What can I say? I am fortunate and grateful to have had  a most amazing Italian mamma!! I lived there for another 2 years, and that flat was never ever as clean as after one of her visits!!

Now, I had to reassure her again that she would not roll down the hill getting into the car, but this time, I was unsuccessful.  She adamantly refused to get into the car, and very carefully, made her way down the hill, and waited for me at the bottom!  As I drove her to the train station, navigating the craziness of San Francisco traffic, I tried to have a normal conversation, but to no avail, as all that came out of her mouth was, “O Dio,” shouted in panic mode – translation: “Oh, God; we’re all going to die,” (the last part was simply understood!!)

There are so many more stories about my mom – her quirky, humorous, and, at times, absolutely aggravating ways – that I will share in future blogs. Mother/Daughter relationships aren’t always smooth sailing, and my mom and I had our fair share of disappointing each other, but what I remember – want to always remember – is her incredible spirit, and that neither one of us ever gave up on the other. This is a lesson I carry with me, and remind myself that if we are so intent on trying to change others – on holding onto grudges or anger  – we sometimes miss the special parts about them.