Birthday Wishes

August 31, 2010. Today would have been my mother's 84th birthday. Though she's been dead for over five years I continue to celebrate her day of birth each year because finally, belatedly, I realize the vast impact she had--and continues to have--upon my life. With each passing year I become more like my mother or, at least, I'm more willing to acknowledge our similarities.

In honor of Mother's birthday I spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen making a huge batch of spaghetti sauce. I couldn't let those freshly harvested tomatoes go to waste. Those words, I'm sure, came from Mother because she spent hours-days-months-years in the kitchen cooking, baking, canning, and preserving food for her beloved husband and children. I, too, relish my time in the kitchen because--just as she did--I enjoy preparing and eating healthy, delicious, love-infused food.

Tonight, in honor of Mother's birthday and Frances's father's birthday on August 21st, we decided we'll drive to Maggie's restaurant in downtown Bayfield and order dessert. We are our mothers' and our fathers' daughters, after all, and coffee (Frances's and my dad's favorite) and fresh-baked goodies (favorites, perhaps, of both of our parents) will provide the perfect setting with which to honor the memories that linger.

Several nights ago, Frances and I watched The Last Station, a movie about Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Prior to his death Tolstoy's wife waged a one-woman battle with her husband, his trusted pupil Chertkov, and their children to prevent Tolstoy from donating royalties from his books to the Russian people. She had no choice, she felt, but to challenge her husband's outrageous act of idealism.

Mrs. Tolstoy, as played by Helen Mirren, expressed herself with words and behaviors that reminded me of another outraged woman in my life ... Mother. Though my mother was never nominated for an academy award, her performances were equally dramatic and memorable.

I'm sure Mother thought that my father's idealistic notions were so far removed from reality that she had no choice but to challenge him. Still, it wasn't until I watched Tolstoy's wife struggle for what she believed was right that I began to wonder whether these two very different women could have been motivated by a similar underlying passion and love.

Happy birthday, Mother ... wherever you are.