December 12, 2003
our fave sagittarius
12/12/03
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my mom circa 1950
This entry is a hearty shout-out to my Mom, who turned 72 today, and doesn't look a day older than, say, 60. If she ever went to the gym like I tell her to, she wouldn't look a day over 56.
There are two stories about my mom that she is sick of, but they totally encapsulate what she is all about. The first one takes place in a "Model A" Ford driving from Utah to California in about 1949. On the long slope down a mountain, the gear stick shift came loose, stranding my mom and her two sisters in the middle of god-knows-where Utah desert. After my aunts screamed that they were all going to be eaten alive, my mom took a bobby pin out of her hair, stuck in the gearbox, shoved the stick shift back in, and spit sand revving the hell out of there. When I was young, driving I-15 through Cedar City, she used to point out the hill where this happened. "We sold the car with the bobby pin still in it," was always the capper.
The other is shorter: while we were living in Iowa, she lost her keys. After three hours of the entire family scouring every part of the house, she found them in the freezer.
I use these two stories, out of the hundreds we know about my mom, because they perfectly illustrate her: inventive, practical, effusive, and charming – with the occasional lapse of consciousness so surreal that it keeps us all in a state of constant bewilderment. She hates that keys-in-the-freezer story, but to me, it was never a bad thing. I know that there was that moment - when she was composing a string quintet in her head, or arranging a children's song for four voices - when she opened the freezer door and threw her keys inside. She was inhabiting a world that has given us so much pleasure, like her symphonic work Sundance, or the Arcadia Quartet, or even that gorgeous version of "Rainbow Day" that every fourth grader knows across America.
Thank god she's not always with us, because we'd miss out on so much. Like I always say, my best friend Chip and my mom are like tortillas; their corporeal forms are just delivery mechanisms for the good stuff.
Here's to you, Mom – long may you forget where you are occasionally. Just please, don't look for your cell phone in the back seat while you're driving.
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me and mom at my wedding in August
Thanks for the birthday blog, Ian. One small correction. The hairpin went into the innards of a 47 Chevvie, and yes we sold it with the hairpin in place, when the mechanic in Provo couldn't get it out. Family stories sometimes melt together. The Model A was the car my pregnant mom drove from Utah to California in 1934, with me and my 1 year old sister in the back seat. (I'll never know how she did that.)
My car keys DID turn up in the fridge. And yes my mind wanders sometimes... OK, often. But I promise not to look for my cell phone in the back seat while driving. And the wedding picutre has convinced me I need to get back to the gym. Thanks for reminding me.
. . . and for reminding me to be grateful and amazed that I have such incredible and interesting children.
Happy Birthday! You're a very cool person and I'm honored to know you.
Ian:Thanks for the kind words. I've never been compared to a tortilla before.
As for your Mom, I don't think I know a wiser, more delightful person than Linda.
So, Linda, Happy Birthday and many, many more. And thanks for the conversation at the farm over Thanksgiving. And thanks for the orange rolls.
Happy Birthday, mom!
And really, is there a better combination of people to have at one's hearth than my mom and Chip? You see how lucky us Williamses are.
Happy Birthday Froeliche Geburtstag Feliz whatever-the-hell-it-is-in-Spanish, mom. You would, of course, know that.
The Mom legend that gets re-cycled in my house is a tirade that took place in a Subaru station wagon on First Avenue in Cedar Rapids, at about 16th Street, if memory serves. Mom is raging against some infraction one or the other of us have committed, and she winds it up with "SOMEDAY YER GONNA WAKE UP AND THERE'LL BE A NOTE ON MY PILLOW AND I'LL BE GONE!"
That was an empty threat, but a memorable one. Of course, you're always leaving, but it seems like you're always coming back again.
PS thanks for all the shampoo you've left in our shower over the years.
Feliz cumpleanos / happy birthday to Ian's mom, a person I'll most likely never meet but enjoy reading about...erm, Linda, any chance you might share the recipe for your famous orange rolls? they must be pretty scrumptious for so many mentions on Ian's blog during the six months or so I've been reading it. i'd love to try baking them for my own fam!
If the day ever comes when Ian has nothing to write about, I'll have him post the recipe for orange rolls. It's one of those super simple recipes that really isn't one at all--it's all in how it's put together. Just so you know: the success relies heavily on the butter and sugar. A no-brainer.
Stay tuned. . .