Tuesday, February 9, 2010

She's Got Spunk

This is an essay I wrote about Mother in 2005, a year before her death. (I wish I could include photos, but Blogger is not happy with any I have tried to upload lately. I will keep trying. Very frustrating!)

Although most people know her as Eleanor Page Anderson, when Mother arrived in the big white house on Pine Street in February of 1911, she was Ella Bradley Page. Because her grandmother Ella had just died and no one wanted to call little Ella by that name, she endured multiple nicknames. “Dan” was funny and “I-lou” was just plain strange. In self-defense she proclaimed herself Eleanor.

And that is like her. Though she is quiet and polite about it, she has always been a take-charge woman. I learned early to move out of the way when Mother decided to get something done. She is 94, now, and her attitude has served her well. Her age alone would lead one to think so, but when I reflect on her life, I see evidence of focused energy and determination in almost everything she has done. She tells me her imaginary childhood friend, Gus, was and is her guardian angel. She says he helped her through some hard times; I believe it was her own spunk. Let me tell you why.

When she was about seven, Eleanor asked her parents for a violin. Her mother, assuming the request was a childish whim, gave her a little tin fiddle for Christmas. Though crushed, she persisted until her daddy brought a real violin home in his Buick and arranged for her to have lessons with a young man who provided music for the then-silent movies. Mother learned by playing along with him behind the curtains at the downtown theater. When violinist Lola Dickman moved to Florence, Mother began more serious study. Picture this: With her violin and books, Mother skated from her home on West Pine Street to school at the building that is now Poynor. After school she tucked the violin and books under her arms and skated to the Dickman home near the train station. Some of you know the rest of the story. She has fiddled many an hour and for fifty-one years played with the Florence Symphony. She missed only two performances - one due to a broken arm, the other because she had had the flu (when she was about ninety) and couldn‘t attend rehearsal. She sat in the audience both times. She gives that kind of energy and commitment to everything she does. Just yesterday my husband remarked that Mother never just sits in front of the TV. At her age and with all she has done, one could say she is entitled. Not Mother. She reads novels, writes notes to friends and family, listens to music and sermons, or studies the Bible. Well occasionally, now, she snoozes or plays solitaire. But she never just sits. Until she moved in with me a few years ago, because she thought she should, she set her alarm for 6:30. One must be up, clean and presentable, and ready to do something constructive early in the day. She still arrives at the breakfast table with powder and lipstick on.

Mother’s life has not always been easy, and until recently she would not have had time to just sit. Propelled into single parenthood when my little sister was on the way, she taught school and created a stable family life for Weeza, Margaret, and me and - on the side - earned her masters degree so that she could provide more for us. Imagine taking care of three children, doing housework, teaching, and studying or writing a thesis - all at the same time. If that were not enough, she sewed for herself and for her girls so beautifully that teachers stopped us in the halls to admire our dresses. Mother worked hard to provide other opportunities, too. In our Greenville years, we took dance lessons, attended kindergarten (not all children did in those days), went to story time at the library, and always attended Sunday School. Later, in Florence, we went to piano, violin, and dance lessons. I was given art and speech instruction as well. I wonder how she paid for all that. She wonders how she got each of us where we were supposed to be at the right times. We walked and rode our bikes a lot, but rainy days were nightmares for her. We attended Scouts and GA’s and choir, and regardless of how bad I thought my hair looked, we went to church each Sunday morning - Mother had to be there to teach Sunday School.

Because my grandmother needed Mother’s help, that move to Florence occurred just before I entered third grade. To her duties of teacher, parent, Sunday School teacher, musician, chauffeur, seamstress, and cook she added caregiver for her mother and the big old family home on Pine Street. The budget was tight, so to help pay the bills, she pinched pennies and took in boarders. I recall the struggles, but I remember our happy times, too. Some of you have read stories of my childhood and may have assumed it was perfect and magical. Though not perfect, for me it was good. Mother created a pleasant and beneficial upbringing for my sisters and me and now seems surprised that she did. We laughed, sewed together, went to church, played, and got through the slim times. In spite of money troubles, Mother hosted big family meals and welcomed her sister and brothers and their families when they came to visit. We often invited friends - including Miss Dickman - for Sunday and holiday dinners, too.

Thirty-two years ago - after thirty-eight years of teaching - Mother retired. With no more work or family obligations, she suddenly found herself with free time. In her usual determined manner, she set out to find something to do with it. She bought cigarettes and tried smoking. Thankfully that didn’t work out. She took ceramic classes until she had made keepsakes for everyone in the family. Finally she settled on art lessons and more violin instruction. As usual, she began both with passion. Add artist to her long list of titles.

When I was a child, friends and neighbors told me my mother was amazing. They marveled that she never raised her voice and showed infinite patience with us. I usually shrugged and was puzzled about why folks would say that. Now strangers, friends, doctors, my sisters, and her grandchildren all think she is something. Her great grandchildren seem to think so, too. Two-year-old Billy, who stays with us when his parents are at work, often stops what he is doing and rushes to her room to see her. He begs “Mimi” to watch him play and, though normally a spinning ball of energy, melts into her lap for a story. Six-year-old Mattie loves to visit, too. Reese Eleanor is way too small to understand but shares the name Mother chose so many years ago. I hope she will also share her spunk.

Sometimes I take Mother for granted the way we do with family. Every day I see her doing ordinary things. But they aren’t. It isn’t ordinary that she remembers some things better than I. It isn’t ordinary at all that she is working to maintain her strength. In spite of her unsteady gait and painful back, she keeps on. She is disgusted that she must continue to use her walker and that the doctor says she must take so much medicine. And she is not ordinary in her attitude. She smiles when I see her in the morning. She thanks me for a nice breakfast or lunch or dinner. She acts surprised and thrilled each night when I take ice cream to her room or when I buy her jellybeans. She is witty, laughs a lot, and tells me to have “sweet dreams.” Of course she is also set in her ways and opinions - stubborn maybe. And you must know there were times when I thought she was not cool. I also didn’t like her to insist I wash dishes or come home on time. I didn’t want her to critique my hair and I hated for her to burst into my bedroom to tell me it was almost seven o’clock - meaning I was horrible for sleeping in and had better get up to have breakfast and dress for school right now.

But I loved the feel of her soft hands when they tucked me in at night and her Ponds Cold Cream fragrance when she told me to “sleep tight and don‘t let the bed bugs bite.” I was proud when she curled my hair and made my little dresses, or later when she sewed yards and yards of nylon net to make puffy gowns for dances and church or choral events. I liked her homemade biscuits, waffles, doughnuts and fruitcake and - as regular She readers know - the dressing she made at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course I also loved to hear her play her fiddle. By the time I graduated from Furman, I was smart enough to appreciate Mother’s commitment and sacrifice to help my two sisters and me through college; later I knew grad school would not have been possible without her backing. She is determined, industrious, patient, calm, and kind. And I believe Mother’s spunk sets an example for the rest of us.

This essay was first published in SHE MAGAZINE in 2005

4 comments:

  1. I love this essay. And as I re-read it, I was struck by how many of these same descriptors/event apply to you! Bill and I talk about you in much the same way that we talk about Mimi--as in how amazing you are, *not* as in how old you are! :)

    Would it be okay if I posted a link to this essay later this week?

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  2. I am flattered that you compare me favorably to Mother. Of course you may post a link.

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  3. This lovely essay makes me nostalgic for a time I've never known and for a grandmother I never had. How wonderful that such a lady was in your life, passing on her quality just as she passed on her good genes. I hope I'm considered even half so well by my people.

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  4. Thank you alysonhill. And I am glad you stopped by. Our family has, indeed, been blessed with amazing people whose shoes are too large to fill.

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