Straw Bags and Library Books

This morning I picked my mother up as we had appointments to get our dogs groomed. I smiled and shook my head when I saw my mother. She is a very young 70 years old, dressed in a pair of jeans, lime green T shirt, chambray blouse, unbuttoned and huarache sandals. Slung over her arm a gorgeous barrel shaped straw bag that she wore when I was a young girl, one I have been trying to get her to give me for as long as I was carrying a purse.

Having left the two dogs in capable hands I drove us "to town" otherwise known as the downtown area of where I live. There is a lovely department store, a throwback, that I like to visit on occasion. I didn't tell my mother what I had planned and I thought I would surprise her. I thought my mother would enjoy having lunch there and perhaps do a little shopping.

When I was a little girl my mother would take me to town on Saturday mornings. She would put on a pretty dress and heels, dress me similarly but with Mary Janes, and off we would go. We would stop at all of the department stores and specialty shoppes, restaurants and other places that dotted Main Street and the Square at that time. She would buy her stockings at Lady Oris, pairs in individual flat boxes and nestled in tissue paper.

We would go to the Square Record Shop to purchase a 45 rpm record for me, one she approved of, and if I was lucky it would be one by the Beatles on the Apple label. A stop at Woolworth's would produce thread or buttons or whatever odds and ends she needed and then we would pick a restaurant for lunch.

My favorite was The Overbrook Tea Shoppe because they had delicious hot chocolate that they served in a porcelain teapot and I liked the blue patterned dishes they used. My mother liked The Spa for their club sandwiches. Sometimes we ate at the lunch counter at Woolworth's and sometimes in the restaurant in the department store I planned to take her to today.

We already had done some shopping, a pair of shoes for her and two sun dresses for me. We rode the escalator down to the lower level and she saw the restaurant. She smiled when I asked if she wanted a little lunch. We settled in, placed our order and sipped coffee while we talked. I looked at my mother across the table and tried to remember her as she sat there nearly 40 years ago and compare that woman to the one seated across from me today.

My mother is a tough cookie, she ran a tight ship at home. She expected a lot from me, held me to a high standard, demanded my best. I spent the better part of my lifetime trying to please her, to make her proud of me. I was never quite certain I had succeeded. We butted heads a lot. We did not always agree on my direction, my choices, my attitude. There were times that I don't think we could have gotten any further apart emotionally. We are both very stubborn and very private women.

She's mellowed however, softened her stance, let up on letting me know I am capable of more. She eased up on the pushing and prodding. Two summers ago we went through a family crisis that I think made her realize that it didn't matter what any of us were doing, it was enough to just be here with each other. It was a revelation of sorts I think and a relief ...for both of us.

So today, after lunch, we walked past the town library. Tents were set up on the lawn and the annual fundraising book sale in full swing. We picked up our boxes to hold the books we found and walked past table after table making selections. In my box I had a novel about Sally Hemmings, a memoir by Lillian Hellman, Marcia Clark's The People v Simpson and Jimmy Carter's retrospective, Palestine Peace Not Apartheid. My mother looked into my box as we were walking and she fished a book out of her box and plunked it in mine. It was The Bridges of Madison County. She simply said....."you need something romantic in there....now go find something fun".

Still pushing, just a bit, but relaxed. So different than she was once. Now If only she'd part with that straw bag.

Indeed