Memories of Early Christmas Presents

My mom loved spoiling us for Christmas. Or rather, she put in a lot of effort to make sure that we had fantastic Christmases. She was always given a budget (set by dad), which she always supplimented with her own meager income. There were always the same amount of presents for both my sister and I, which cost the exact same amount. Talking to my friends once I left the home, I was shocked to hear that most people didn't get 7 gifts, and a never-ending stocking for Christmas. I had always assumed that my mother's effort was normal.

One particular event stands out for some reason. I was in middle school, and it was December, and I had "NOTHING TO WEAR!! (ZOOMMG!!)". I was standing in the kitchen, crying while I was tearing through the clean clothes pile (which usually encased half of the kitchen table.. our family was never on it when it came to folding clothes), looking for something "Cool" to wear. My mom watched me, distraught for a couple minutes before saying "Okay, Libby... I'll give you one of your Christmas presents early" and went into the garage, emerging with a shipping box. Out she pulled the most beautiful red and blue plaid shirt that I had ever seen (note, this was around 1991). I waltzed into school that day feeling like a million dollars, as my mom must have known that I would have.

Basically, my mom went above and beyond to embody the Christmas Spirit for us all. And she realized that it wasn't just the day that matters, its how you make each other feel all year round. I just hope that I am able to embody the same selflessness when it comes time to spoil my children.

(Author's note: I'm starting to realize that this blog might in fact, do more to expose what a brat I was as a child. Future children of mine, take note: Don't even think about it.)

Memories of Veterans

Happy Veteran's Day everyone! Not only am I thankful of Veterans because I love quite a few (John, my father, both grandfathers, John's father all have served in the Navy at some point), but I'm thankful for what they do for the nation and appreciative of the risks that they make to ensure our safety and well being. Not to mention, I'm sure they had something to do with foiling the plot to blow up cargo planes over the Eastern Seaboard the day before my wedding.

To the right is a picture of my Grandfather (Mom's Dad) who served during the Korean War and WWII. My knowledge of the facts are a little hazy, but I know that he was enrolled in Syracuse University and left to join WWII, while my grandmother remained as a nurse in New York (I'm not actually sure if they were together at this point). Afterwards, they moved together to Florida and Texas, where Robert was a flight instructor, accumulating 5 little girls along the way.

What I do know is that my mother was very very proud of her father. In a move that I only fully understand the implications of now, she set up an award in his name at the Naval Academy. Every year, the freshman with the most improvement receives an award in the name of Robert Williams and a copy of the Old Man and the Sea. I remember being annoyed at being forced to go to the first award ceremony, with its long winded speeches and cold air and itchy tights. I didn't see the point of having a silly award for some silly young sailor that I didn't know. Although I'm sure that my mother did appreciate the freshman awardees, I can see now that it was less about them and more about wanting to preserve the memory of her father and spread her admiration for him. That, I can totally understand.

Memories of the Medicine of Mom Hugs

When I was in elementary school from grade 2 to grade 5, every day at school was the worst day every. My mom would greet us on our front porch, the grass dappled with sunlight streaming though the tall american sweetgum trees that dotted our front yard.

During this time period, my mom's uniform was a permed bob coupled with a turtleneck tucked under some sweater. I hated her hair, but then, with my knotty hair and puffypainted shirt, it's not like I really had room to judge. It wasn't the perm that irked me, but the fact that i believed that all girls should have long, luxourious hair, like Barbie.

I remember running across the yard, dodging gumballs and cats, as my mom asked me "How was your day?". I, always with a flare for the dramatic, would crush up my face and wail "IT WAS THE WORST DAY EVER!! Everybody is so MEAN!!!". My mom would envelope me in a big hug, and my memories of day would dissolve, being replaced with the smell of coffee, tobacco and mom.

Memories of One Fish, Two Fish (or No Fish At All)

Our house on 3136 Anchorage Drive was camouflaged by a thick forest of bamboo trees in the back yard. When our neighborhood was built in the 1970's, bamboo was the plant de jour for making separations between properties, but by the time I was 10, our house was one of the only ones that maintained the tradition.

One day, mom decided that she wanted to go fishing. Apparently, it was something that she had done with her father, and wanted to pass down the tradition to the Wright girls. Instead of buying fishing poles, the ever frugle (although not by choice) Gayle decided that we would make our own fishing poles from the young bamboo fronds in the backyard. So, we cut down long slender pieces, and tied fishing line to the end.

The next morning, we got up at 5:30 am, because mom insisted that would be the best time for the fish to bite. However, I don't think that we would have caught fish no matter the time of day because A) We were attempting to fish the body of water in our neighborhood, Lake Ogleton. I'm fairly certain that the lake hadn't been home to anything that we would want to eat since bamboo went out of style and B) It's really hard to catch fish without lures, bobbing things and most importantly, bait. I'd really be interested to know if that is actually how my grandfather caught fish.. it seems that he would have better luck catching fish with his bare hands.

Despite our failure to catch fish, I think that I did learn about the most important part of fishing: it legitimizes the act doing nothing while spending time with people that you love.

Memories of Gayle

Since I was a child, my mother would regale us with stories of our grandfather. How his mustache curled, how he would take her and her sisters ice skating and hunting, how he laughed. After hearing a hunting story for the umpteenth time, I would role my eyes and think how silly and sentimental my mother was, and how senial she must have thought I was that I needed to hear the same story over and over again.

Driving to work this morning, I thought about one of those stories. And it struck me.. how funny is it that 30 some years after a man has passed away, somebody that he barely even began to know at the time of his death is thinking about him and wishing him well. Like the marine layer lifting of San Diego on a June day, it suddenly became apparent to me that my mother wasn't just a silly sentimental fool when she was telling me those stories. Those stories were a tool to bond me and my sister with her father that she loved so so much, that she knew that we would never get the chance to know. They were a bridge between generations.

So, begins this blog. My heart is brimming with stories of my mother that I want to world, and more importantly, my yet to be conceived children, to know. Little snap shots of life that can give insight into a wonderful person who left the world way to soon. I can only hope that generations from now, my children's children's children can find this blog on a google search (if such thing exists) and know what wonderfulness made their existence possible. And so, it begins.....