pizza to go

Life with Miss Patsy was never ordinary. She had a genuine enthusiasm for life, and a unique flair that expressed itself in every living day. She believed in having fun, and in making a statement.

Even a mundane task such as being dropped off at school would reflect her art of living. Imagine an elementary school in the late 1960's. A line of avocado green and harvest gold station wagons with wood grain siding are lined up to discharge America's youth for a day of learning.

Alongside pulls a midnight blue Camaro SS convertible with a red leatherette interior and white bumblebee stripes. The top is down. The non-matronly driver is Miss Patsy. She is wearing hip-huggers, a white leather belt, and a knit tank top blouse. She has a Winston in one hand and her beehive hairdo is lacquered to the point of hurricane preparedness. She has more than a passing resemblance to Cousin Serena. And so begins another day of school.

Fast forward to the mid- seventies. The Camaro has been replaced by a little five-speed Porsche with a removable top. It's a spring day and we are headed into town to pick up a pizza. She's having fun putting the little car though its paces- the strong clutch and racing style gearbox. She's not being reckless, but is holding the gears and driving spiritedly- like putting a thoroughbred horse through its paces.

About a mile from the pizza joint, we spy a police helicopter overhead. "They're not interested in us" she says. We gaze overhead and they do indeed seem to be following us. "Here's where we lose them" she says as she downshifts to second and executes a power turn into the parking lot.

The helicopter lands.

Miss Patsy looks a bit white faced at this point. I turn to her and ask, "Can I have the money now?" I begin to wonder if I'll be baking her a cake with a file in it. Now that I think of it, she does look good in stripes.

One of the Officers approaches. "Nice car" he says with a wink, then turns and walks to the door.

They had ordered a pizza too.

patriot act

Reposted from January 2008. Merry Christmas, Mom



I can't watch "I Love Lucy" anymore. It reminds me too much of her. The same strong will, the sheer determination. Nothing stood between Lucy and her crazy scheme. They were so much alike.

Like the time with the cookies. It was Christmastime 1990 and thanks to a Bush in the White House, we were building up to a war- Desert Shield, it was called at that time. Mom was seeing TV reports of all the troops away from home for the holiday and she wanted to do something nice for them. Somewhere she stumbled across a cookie recipe that was approved by the Marine Corps. It contained no processed sugar, instead it used fruit juice for sweetener. She baked a trial batch and declared it "not bad". She decided that instead of holiday cookies for the family, she would forego that this year and bake cookies for the troops instead.

I admit I encouraged her, I thought it was a cute little project that would give her something fun to do. I guessed she would make ten dozen, maybe twenty at the outset. It would give her something to talk about to the card club.

The cookies seemed to take a long time to bake. Every day it seemed she was mixing dough, or had a batch in the oven. Mother always thought big, I began to wonder exactly how many cookies she planned to bake. But it was her gig, I didn't interfere.

Finally the cookies were ready to ship. At that point I asked her point blank how many she had made. "Eleven Hundred" she said somewhat sheepishly. ""Eleven Hundred Cookies?" I asked. ""No" came her reply. "Eleven Hundred Dozen".

Eleven Hundred Dozen. Eleven Hundred DOZEN. She baked Thirteen Thousand Two Hundred cookies to send to the desert to feed to troops that she would never meet. She spent more than a month on the project. The Marines had to send four trucks to pick them all up. She received a Commendation from the Marine Corps Commander.

I told this story at the time to a client who chuckled and said, "Your Mother is quite a patriot". Yes, she was. And she was quite a Mom.

chuck

I'm not sure I recall the exact moment when I renamed her. It was probably one of those struggling adolescent moments when the pre-teenage boy was at a crossroads, having always been exceptionally close to his mother but reaching a phase where his friends found this closeness uncool.

Or perhaps I was emulating her- she had a lifelong habit of nicknaming her friends and relatives. I was nicknamed Skip at age five, due to a note on my Kindergarten report card. Dee the Bricklayer, Aunt Hussy, General Letty, all of these names were part of my everyday life. The advent of "handles" during the CB radio fad had nothing on her.

So I started calling her Chuck. And she answered to it. When written communications demanded a bit more dignity, birthday cards were addressed to Lady Charles of Southhampton. Her cards to me were signed simply Chuck. The exact origin of Chuck is also unclear, her theory was that it was a reference from M*A*S*H, but upon reflection I think I was referencing Peppermint Patty's nickname for Charlie Brown.

Either explanation could descend into way too much thought. Maybe it was just a away for a teenage boy to remain close to his Mom while simultaneously needing to grow up and pull away.

But as tends to happen with adolescents, it was just a phase. Once the Preppy Handbook was published, I renamed her Muffy.

when leaves turn

I think of her especially when the leaves turn. We're coming into her favorite time of year. She loved autumn- color tours to view the turning leaves, trips to the apple orchard, the advent of Hallowe'en. When my brother and I outgrew our need for home-made costumes she started making them for the little neighbor girl. Her parents whom I had not seen in years recounted the story to me at her service.

I took these images in late October, 1983. I was learning to use my new Nikon 35 mm camera and as you can see, was pretty impressed with my star filter. It was a stellar fall day, sunny and crisp and I was taking glamor shots of Dad's 1941 Packard Limousine. I decided I needed a model and talked Mom into the part, in her favorite antebellum lace dress and parasol. The pictures were taken in the middle of the street. Somehow, we managed to dodge the upcoming cars and then afterward went inside for hot chocolate.

I'm terribly glad she agreed to it, because they are among my favorite images of her. It will be one year on Thanksgiving. I miss her so much.



In remembrance and love, here is Eva Cassidy with a wonderful live version of Autumn Leaves:

flaming mom

Because of my extreme youth at the time, I cannot precisely recall the circumstances by which Mother caught herself on fire. But let me illustrate as much of the picture as I can.

It is the late summer of 1970. I recall that her right wrist was in a cast as a result of a bowling league mishap. This in itself wasn't all that significant, she had so many mishaps in the mid sixties that she owned her own crutches, and was given the nickname Miss Hospital by her yours truly. But this never slowed her down. So to slip a Qiana (TM) nylon blouse over her cast and act as if nothing had happened was totally in character.

Dad was out of town, in Atlanta at a CPA convention. He was due home that evening. Mom had decided at that moment to attack a crusted skillet on the stove with some type of chemical cleaner and steel wool. Perhaps the cast (yes, she was using that hand) caused her to bear down with More pressure than usual. All I recall is seeing the pan burst into flames, turning the blue and white floral Qiana (TM) blouse's sleeve into a seventies interpretation of Miss Liberty's torch.

Now this is where it gets a bit blurry. She was right handed, so her most adept hand was not only encased in plaster, it was further complicated by being wrapped in a layer of flaming Qiana (TM). It took her only a few precious moments to shed the rest of the garment, but the burning sleeve was stuck on the cast. With her free hand, she somehow managed to get to the Imperial Dishmaster spray brush and extinguish herself before any serious burns occurred. My adult mind pictures the advertisement, "I dreamt I evaded Self-Immolation in my Maidenform Bra". My eight year old self was simply traumatized.

When Dad arrived home a couple of hours later, the kitchen was a model of sparkling perfection, as was Mother. She had eliminated all signs of disaster, changed clothes, fixed her hair, and tied a dark colored sling over her blackened cast. Dad came through the door and remarked, "I've come from where it's hot". "Oh, so have I" she replied. "So have I".

It wasn't until the next day that he found the charred skillet in the trash.

root beer

Mother didn't get to choose the color of her 1971 Cadillac, and wasn't totally crazy about the period triple light green color scheme. She was more of a nautical gal at heart, those Bill Blass Blues suited her much better.

So when it was time for the new 1974, she took the helm. She chose a deep hue called Diplomat Blue matched with a white top and snow white leather trim. I went with her to pick it up at Superior Cadillac on Dort Highway. She wore a matching blue and white outfit to accentuate her purchase.

On the way home, we stopped for a celebratory root beer at the A & W hot dog stand in Grand Blanc, that still had car hop service in the 1970's. She pulled up in the majestic chariot, touched the power window button and began her order. Except that she had lowered the rear window by mistake. She turned beet red. To my adolescent brain, it was hilarious. For decades to come, I could make her laugh by putting down a rear window and saying. "I'd like a root beer, please".

I noticed on this visit home that the old hot dog stand has reopened. It's under a different name, but still serves hot dogs and frosty cold mugs of root beer. It even has car hops on the weekends.

I piled my Dad and stepmother into the old 1975 Buick Electra, the one I left with Dad for safekeeping about ten years ago. We went down to for lunch yesterday. We dined on the picnic tables instead of inside the car but the experience was very much as I remember it.

I got back into the car first. I rolled down the left rear window and said "I'd like a root beer, please".

pizza to go

Life with Mother was never ordinary. She had a genuine enthusiasm for life, and a unique flair that expressed itself in every living day. She believed in having fun, and in making a statement.

Even a mundane task such as being dropped off at school would reflect her art of living. Imagine an elementary school in the late 1960's. A line of avocado green and harvest gold station wagons with wood grain siding are lined up to discharge America's youth for a day of learning.

Alongside pulls a midnight blue Camaro SS convertible with a red leatherette interior and white bumblebee stripes. The top is down. The non-matronly driver is my Mother. She is wearing hip-huggers, a white leather belt, and a knit tank top blouse. She has a Marlboro in one hand and her beehive hairdo is lacquered to the point of hurricane preparedness. She has more than a passing resemblance to Cousin Serena. And so begins another day of school.

Fast forward to the mid- seventies. The Camaro has been replaced by a little five-speed Porsche with a removable top. It's a spring day and we are headed into town to pick up a pizza. She's having fun putting the little car though its paces- the strong clutch and racing style gearbox. She's not being reckless, but is holding the gears and driving spiritedly- like putting a thoroughbred horse through its paces.

About a mile from the pizza joint, we spy a police helicopter overhead. "They're not interested in us" she says. We gaze overhead and they do indeed seem to be following us. "Here's where we lose them" she says as she downshifts to second and executes a power turn into the parking lot.

The helicopter lands.

Mom looks a bit white faced at this point. I turn to her and ask, "Can I have the money now?" I begin to wonder if I'll be baking her a cake with a file in it. Now that I think of it, she does look good in stripes.

One of the Officers approaches. "Nice car" he says with a wink, then turns and walks to the door.

They had ordered a pizza too.

patriot act

I can't watch "I Love Lucy" anymore. It reminds me too much of her. The same strong will, the sheer determination. Nothing stood between Lucy and her crazy scheme. They were so much alike.

Like the time with the cookies. It was Christmastime 1990 and thanks to a Bush in the White House, we were building up to a war- Desert Shield, it was called at that time. Mom was seeing TV reports of all the troops away from home for the holiday and she wanted to do something nice for them. Somewhere she stumbled across a cookie recipe that was approved by the Marine Corps. It contained no processed sugar, instead it used fruit juice for sweetener. She baked a trial batch and declared it "not bad". She decided that instead of holiday cookies for the family, she would forego that this year and bake cookies for the troops instead.

I admit I encouraged her, I thought it was a cute little project that would give her something fun to do. I guessed she would make ten dozen, maybe twenty at the outset. It would give her something to talk about to the card club.

The cookies seemed to take a long time to bake. Every day it seemed she was mixing dough, or had a batch in the oven. Mother always thought big, I began to wonder exactly how many cookies she planned to bake. But it was her gig, I didn't interfere.

Finally the cookies were ready to ship. At that point I asked her point blank how many she had made. "Eleven Hundred" she said somewhat sheepishly. ""Eleven Hundred Cookies?" I asked. ""No" came her reply. "Eleven Hundred Dozen".

Eleven Hundred Dozen. Eleven Hundred DOZEN. She baked Thirteen Thousand Two Hundred cookies to send to the desert to feed to troops that she would never meet. She spent more than a month on the project. The Marines had to send four trucks to pick them all up. She received a Commendation from the Marine Corps Commander.

I told this story at the time to a client who chuckled and said, "Your Mother is quite a patriot". Yes, she was. And she was quite a Mom.