…ordinary be beautiful
Linda Sievers
DRAFT
The doctor, who delivered my premature mother in 1913, stuck her in a shoe box and told my grandparents she wouldn’t last the night. She survived to make the ordinary be beautiful, her whole life.
Multi-talented, her lyric soprano voice and excellent piano skills filled our house with music. Beaming, she’d cajole my dad into singing Jeanette McDonald and Nelson Eddy ballads.
Memories of their romantic duets still fire my heart.
At Christmas, mom would gather used Kleenex boxes and artfully transform them into miniature houses. A small mirror became an icy pond framed by a wintry forest of entwined twigs. We placed a nativity scene on a hillside of angel hair near our Bethlehem village. A soft yellow light illuminated the sacred birth.
Together, we made the commonplace magical.
Mom tried to teach me to play classical piano, and to sing soprano arias as effortlessly as she, but the sparks flew between us. Hyperactive, I much preferred to belt Elvis tunes pedaling my bike for miles, or to spend my evenings and Saturdays at the dance studio. At eighteen, I left home in a passionate fury to create my own magic. Letters, phone calls and visits sustained us through the years while mom taught voice, played the organ and sang for her church, and I performed, choreographed and taught dance.
One visit, I noticed the grand piano was layered in dust. As mom gestured in conversation, I saw knobby, swollen fingers. Standing from her chair she faltered. I had to repeat myself, often. To speak louder. Sadly, I realized mom could no longer hear herself sing or play the piano.
Phone calls followed from my brother. Mom has breast cancer. Mom broke her hip. Mom must go into a nursing home, her greatest fear.
Mom can no longer hear my voice; no longer recognize me as her child. Now, as I watch the nurse wheel my mother down the hall for her bath, I long to tell her that her love for beauty, her ability to make the ordinary be beautiful, inspired my whole life.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
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What beautiful memories to help you through letting go. It is so typical for teens to not appreciate Mom until later in life. I especially liked the phrases "She survived to make the ordinary beautiful" (I would end the sentence there). "their romantic duets still fire my heart", and "I left home in a passionate fury to make my own magic". Instead of Together, we made the commonplace magic, how about--Mom was the director of our magic.???? Great story
ReplyDeleteSensational opening paragraph!...This piece is a sad and tender and hopeful...And it could be much longer...I want to hear more about the mom...Particularly when you were still a child and living at home...
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