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.

lily girl

The slender volume of dark maroon leatherette was on the stand next to her bed. The cover said "Senior Memories 1952" in silver debossed lettering. Inside were many casual photographs of her- playing sports, clowning with her best friend , skating in an exhibition.

Her senior portrait showed off a modest smile. She wore her brunette hair not unlike Audrey Hepburn's. A single strand of pearls accented her sweater. Her intense blue eyes stared out into a world full of promise. Each graduate's picture bore a caption, hers was "A lily girl, not meant for this world's pain". It would prove more prophetic than anyone could have imagined at the time.

She endured more than her share of this world's pain. Her years of skating as a teenager, compounded by pregnancies, caused severe back problems in her young adulthood and a premature onset of arthritis. Medical science responded in imperfect ways, including the introduction of pain medications whose presence caused dependency. Her mobility diminished with each passing year but her spirit did not.

There were emotional pains as well. Two miscarriages, including one which would have provided a badly wanted daughter. A failed marriage later in life, the loss of her own mother to whom she was extremely close. And yet her will to live was undeterred.

We spoke briefly on Friday. I had gotten in too late on Thanksgiving to call from California. When I reached her, she seemed sleepy. I told her to rest, and that I would call her later. "I love you, Mom", I said as I hung up the phone.

We found her on her sofa with her hands peacefully clasped, as if she had laid down for a nap and simply did not awaken. Five days short of her seventy fourth birthday, her pain finally ceased.

I've returned to Michigan in the winter for the first time in fifteen years. I always come in the summertime. She's commented before how I've been back for Dad's birthday but not hers. The irony was not lost on me as I boarded the plane on December first- she finally got me to come back on her birthday.

She is laid out in pink, because she loved pink. She was a girly kind of girl at heart. She'll be wearing her Macewen sash, honoring her Scottish heritage. My brother has arranged for a piper to play for her. Following services on Monday, she will be laid to rest alongside her mother. Both my darling girls will be together.

Rest well, lily girl. There will never be another like you.