The other day I drove out to Mona to go to a family reunion on my mother's side. As I was driving and watching the green fields, orchards, farms, and mountains flow silently by, I felt a sense of peace, the feeling you have when you are going home...I watched the land morph and blend... country that I had been so familiar with... country that led me to a house I used as a refuge in my youth. Aunt Larita's home. She is my mom's sister, and to me so unlike my mom and yet so like her too. To me, they have inherited (don't all my mom's sisters?) they have inherited what I imagine to be my grandma's best traits... A quiet strength, courage and composure, a tinge of sassy fiestiness with sweetness in the contours of their faces. For me, she became like Emily, the chicken, in the Virginian, who would adopt potatoes, puppies and other farmland offspring... I was not hers, and maybe I was a little bit strange, but I felt warm and comfortable, drawn into her warmth, into her brood, and into her home. (although Emily is a comical tragedy; my Aunt is not :) I would make her laugh at my fickleness with all my "Cecily" type romances... very one sided, but none-the-less-real and dramatic to me. She would feed me food, food I can still remember today. Grilled zucchini and tomatoes with basil and melted mozarella... bananas foster... my tongue still reminds me of how delicious it was. Occasionally, she would take me horseback riding and would always push me to be brave, take control, ride tall, and have fun. Once, the horse I was riding became so unruly that both she and I panicked a little bit. This horse WOULD NOT do what I was asking it and was even bucking and rapidly walking backward, I think it knew it had a novice on its back. The situation became slightly dangerous and I kept thinking, I will not give up... I will just listen to Aunt Larita and everything will be okay. If I remember right, she was also unsure of what to do in the situation and was hoping all would turn out well, it was lucky that I didn't know if that was the case. I can't remember how it all ended, but it did... everyone was unhurt and Aunt Larita rode that horse from then on...she needed to tell it who was boss after such an unseemly display. Now, with my two children playing in the back of the car, I was heading back to this safe haven a harbor to turn to... a second mom and it felt oh so good to be heading home.
My Aunt Marlene was another 'second mom' to me. When I graduated from school, my next place of education was the oh, so cold Ricks College in the frozen town of Rexburg (Iceburg). My first semester there I was... drowned, drenched, weighed down with homesickness... It was healing to have a home and a family to go to. I still remember my first visit to her house. It was a Sunday dinner... warm and complete... which was significant to a college student who was learning to live and cook on her own... yum, boxed noodles :). The thing I remember most... or the feelings that still burn like an ember within me... were the feelings of... family, love and peace... not that there was a yoga zen quality... or that it was even quiet and peaceful... there was movement, noise, laughter, bantering, teasing, and fiestiness... but it was family and it was love... which made it peaceful. My Aunt Marlene... I love her... I love all the red haired, Irish fight in her little body. She worked at Ricks, and if there was ever a problem to resolve, who did they call? Did they call a three hundred pound, muscle bound, tall, dark and brooding man? No. They called the little 4'11 Irish lady with nerves of steel and a sharp wit and tongue. I think she could keep a pack of wolves at bay, scare terrorists into submission, and convince any soul to obey... just by her mere presence... her calm and firm reasoning and maybe a prudent tongue lashing. And yet... she was so soft and gentle. I remember crying with her, over some sadnesses on certain occasions. I would talk. She would listen. And she would share stories, her love stories about my Uncle. How and Why she came to America. I would tell her about school, the things I was struggling with... and she took me in, wrapped me up in love and family. I trusted her. I trusted her heart and her love... she and her family were people that I absolutely loved. She was an adopted mom.
Time and distance has changed these relationships ever so slightly. I am not the same and neither are they. Relationships do change. I am not able to see either of them as much as I would have liked, and I am not good at the occasional phone call... email??? Facebook? Is that were you go to strengthen the bonds of 'second motherhood'? It sometimes seems that in parental relationships there is a constant ebb and flow...there are times when we cling to the lifesaver and times when we must swim alone... but still appreciate that the lifesaver is still there... home is still there, safety, love and peace are still there. I know that if the need ever arouse that absolutely... they would be mothers I could turn to.
No comments:
Post a Comment