On November 27 mom will be 100 years old. She will receive a letter of congratulations from the Queen who will, undoubtedly, be envious that mom is older and still kicking.
Mom began her life in a tiny northern Italian village nestled against the hem of the alps. After WWI her father removed the family to the new world. Mom was eight years old when they boarded an ocean liner bound for this country. Her first memories are of Ellis Island. The morning of their arrival, as her family was packing their bags, they heard a yell: “Liberte, Liberte”. Everyone raced to the upper decks, cheering and waving at the first sight of the tiny, far off Statue of Liberty. As Liberty grew nearer, the cheering steadily abated until there was only silent contemplation. Before them stood the very real evidence of the onset of their very real new lives. Our family had traveled second class so they did not suffer the much described indignities of the lower classes. Nonetheless, as they were whisked through the terminal, mom marveled at the walls of shiny white tiles, the elaborate half moon windows and the polished brass rails of Ellis Island.
Mom lived with her parents and brothers on a small farm. While the young boys were expected to help their father, she was her mother’s little helper, which also included taking care of the constantly renewing litters of outdoor cats that kept the field mice and other small critters away from the house, the root cellar and the barn. Mom was not overly fond of cat care but took her duties seriously. When one cat coughed and whined she did not want to be responsible for its demise so she fed it a healthy dose of castor oil. I shudder to think of the outcome but she vowed that it was perfectly fine the next day.
She was taught English under the auspices of the local church. Her teacher was an expat so mom learned to speak the Queen’s English as a Brit would. To this day she has a trace of a British accent. “Hello Linda, it’s mum”. Mum? ‘Mom’, I want to say; mom, not mum.
WWII arrived. While two brothers went off to war, a third was too young and the oldest was away in college. She was left, with all her girlfriends, waiting for their men to come home so that they could get married and begin their real lives. Meanwhile, the stocking factory in the next larger town retooled to manufacture socks for “the boys”. Mom and her girlfriends regularly hopped the Greyhound bus and learned how to operate those very formidable pieces of knitting machinery. Just before the boxes were taped shut, the girls would sneak encouraging notes into the socks: “come home safe soldier” “I love you soldier”, and other such endearments. Here she is, standing in the midst of her girlfriends at the sock factory, happy to be together and hopeful that the war would soon end.
The war ended and it was time to wed. Astonishingly, her marriage was arranged. She had met my father twice before standing with him at the altar. When I asked how she felt about that engagement, she shyly and sheepishly replied “well, he was very handsome”. Enough said.
Dad died of a brain aneurysm at age 51; she was 47. She never remarried, although she mentioned, on occasion, that some suitor had come “sniffing around”, as she put it. Dad left her comfortable. We were grown and gone. She allowed that this was the first time in her life that she did not have to cater to the needs of anyone else and she aimed to keep it that way.
She has lived an extraordinary life without being aware that it was so. She spoke two languages fluently and understood the Austro-German languages. She grew up during a time that had outdoor 'conveniences', with only a pump in the kitchen, then moved to a home that not only had indoor plumbing, but included a dishwasher and a washer-dryer. Growing up, there were no telephones, then there were party line phones, now there are Zoom calls that allow her to see to whom she is speaking. Her Atlantic crossing took almost two weeks. Today an aeroplane can accomplish the same crossing in a few hours. The family’s only source of world information then was a short wave radio. Today she can watch 3D color HD-TV with surround sound. She takes everything patiently in stride while we whine when a text that must travel through space and back takes more than three seconds to arrive.
Happy birthday mom.
