Herself does not write much about her close family members. Any short entry here regarding them cannot possibly do justice to the length and breadth of her relationships with them; conversations and silences and happenings, moments and days and years. Every now and then, though, she tries to process her thoughts and feelings towards them through writing. It helps her to understand both them, and herself, better. And so, we delve today every-so-briefly into the tremendous complexity of the mother-daughter relationship.
Herself's Mother is a fascinating person. Intelligent and resourceful, she rose above a hardscrabble childhood by pursuing higher education and a career which blossomed out in several directions over time. She is extremely well-read and well-traveled. She is knowledgeable regarding a wide variety of topics, especially art and literature, and delights in sharing information with people. She has beautiful manners and prides herself in always knowing the proper way Things Should Be Done. She possesses an innate ability to charm others with her conversation and lively repartee. She would be comfortable having tea with the Queen. And she would know precisely what to wear, when to curtsy, and which teaspoon to use.
Herself speaks with both her parents regularly. When they called to with Herself and Herself's Beloved a happy anniversary, she had a slightly odd conversation with her Mother. It went as follows - and we include Herself's thoughts in italics, for the sake of completeness of the picture:
Mother: "Let me give you one piece of advice. When [Offspring the First] gets married, be sure to hire a wedding planner. It will save you a whole lot of money and aggravation."
Herself: (Wait - what does that mean? Mother did the planning. I thought Mother had wanted to do the planning. She had very specific ideas about how the wedding should be done, and was hundreds of miles closer to the wedding location than I, so it made sense for her to take charge. I didn't care - I just wanted to be married to my Beloved. She's never mentioned the cost or annoyance before. Is she only now saying that the wedding was aggravating and excessively expensive?) "I think that she would love to do the planning herself. She enjoys that kind of thing."
Mother: "Oh, thank goodness. Remember when I had to take you to the department store in the mall to get clothes for the wedding? You were so difficult about things, it made it so hard."
Herself: ( Good Lord, what did I do wrong back then? I tried to be acquiescent and quick about all wedding-related matters. I do remember going to the mall when I needed shoes for the wedding, and attempting to capture Mother's interest by holding up various pairs for her input, but she stood towards the front of the shoe store, staring silently out the shop window into the mall. I did my best to make a quick selection so that we could leave. Was she angry at me then, or just preoccupied with her own thoughts? I can't remember anything else. I don't understand. I should try to make light of this comment.) "Oh, dear. I'm sooooooo sorry I was difficult. I'm not a fan of shopping, as you know. That was over two decades ago, though - is it necessary to still hold a grudge about it?"
Mother: "Yes, it is. I've been coddling this grudge all these years, keeping it warm and cared-for. I have a few others, too."
Herself: "Well, good! I'd hate to think the grudges are neglected. It's very kind of you to take such good care of them over the years."
They continued with further banter about grudges as well as apologies from Herself before they concluded. Herself tried to make her apologies as profuse as possible, almost to the point of silliness, to mirror what seemed in her mind to be another silliness -- an incomprehensible mentioning of unspecified grievances from ages past. What else could she do? Herself was tempted to see gibes veiled under pointed reminiscences and joking. Or was that merely a guilty conscience shining a spotlight on previously-buried moments?
Afterward, Herself felt ever so slightly on edge, not knowing the nature of the 'crime' of which she had been accused. She tread carefully in her thoughts that evening, lest she fall into her habitual trap of second-guessing and rehashing all that she has said and done (or not said or not done). She also swatted away a tiny cloud of guilt that was seeded by her apparent insufficient involvement in the wedding planning (and the minimizing of expenses). Tiny guilt clouds quickly grow, we know, when they feed on Herself's horror of having been difficult about anything or inconvenienced Mother, or anyone, in any way.
Two women, two different points of view. Is there a truth somewhere in between?
Rather than invest any further mental energy in deciphering matters, Herself decided today to focus on a good moment from that time instead. A rainbow memory, after the rain.
I remember waking up that morning, in the attic room. It seemed like a miracle that the endless waiting, waiting, waiting, was over, and that the day had finally arrived. The dawn was quiet. The sunlight was just beginning to filter in through the curtains. There was a plain metal clothes rack to one side of the attic, with my wedding dress carefully hung upon it. Such a beautiful dress - the lace, the tiny buttons down the back, the bow under which the train would be bustled later. Such a happy dress.
At last, with her Beloved.
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