Lessons from my mother's raincoat
As I mentioned in the first post of this blog, I've been tall for most of my life. I was already taller than my mother (she was a mere 5'4") by the time I was in fourth grade -- which meant that for a brief period (before she quit smoking and started gaining weight) that certain of her clothes also fit me.
-- which wasn't really of any interest to me with one exception: her raincoat. She had what I thought was a spectacularly gorgeous raincoat: made of a satiny olive green fabric covered with tiny purple tulips, it had an olive green velvet collar and tulip-shaped purple buttons. It fit me beautifully, falling to just below my knees, whereas for her it was really too long; my dad (who was fussy about fashion for her, if not for himself) kept insisting she should hem it up.
But I had a much better suggestion: she should give it to me -- or at least share it! But she was not willing to consider that option, and so I took to sneaking it out of the hall closet and trying it on in front of the full length mirror that was mounted inside the closet door. I always felt I looked tres sophisticated in that coat, but mostly Dad would catch me and tell me to turn off the hall light and put the coat away.
So this afternoon, when I stared at my little collection of paints, trying to decide what colors I might use today, I remembered that raincoat and decided to paint in purple and olive. Well, yellow-green, which becomes a rather muddy olive when you mix in a little purple -- not an effect I find especially pleasing, to be honest...
But the reason I bring up the story -- other than to explain the odd color choice -- is to note the fact that in times like these, humans are inclined to go searching a bit for the affirmation they usually get from their social connections. But though it's fun to remember how sophisticated I felt in my mother's raincoat, what pleasure that thought brings me now is muddied by all that's happened since, and by adult awareness of the messages these relatively insignificant instances from childhood were sending.
That said, there's an exuberance here that's hard to stifle. And it's not so different from the exuberance I felt as a child when I put on the coat, or the native exuberance that parental strictures failed to stifle, or the exuberant expectation I feel at the thought of CoVid's passing; that before too long, assuming we survive, we'll be free again to enjoy all the things we've done without for this brief period. Better yet, I suspect we will appreciate them -- and one another -- so much more from having had to do without.
So there you go: playing at art reminds us there are other possibilities; that we can be more than our current situation and our memories, and that how we're living now can have its own gifts, if we make the time to appreciate them.
Learnings: Purple and olive are not in my native color palette.
Again: hard to be bold in a small space.
-- which wasn't really of any interest to me with one exception: her raincoat. She had what I thought was a spectacularly gorgeous raincoat: made of a satiny olive green fabric covered with tiny purple tulips, it had an olive green velvet collar and tulip-shaped purple buttons. It fit me beautifully, falling to just below my knees, whereas for her it was really too long; my dad (who was fussy about fashion for her, if not for himself) kept insisting she should hem it up.
But I had a much better suggestion: she should give it to me -- or at least share it! But she was not willing to consider that option, and so I took to sneaking it out of the hall closet and trying it on in front of the full length mirror that was mounted inside the closet door. I always felt I looked tres sophisticated in that coat, but mostly Dad would catch me and tell me to turn off the hall light and put the coat away.
So this afternoon, when I stared at my little collection of paints, trying to decide what colors I might use today, I remembered that raincoat and decided to paint in purple and olive. Well, yellow-green, which becomes a rather muddy olive when you mix in a little purple -- not an effect I find especially pleasing, to be honest...
But the reason I bring up the story -- other than to explain the odd color choice -- is to note the fact that in times like these, humans are inclined to go searching a bit for the affirmation they usually get from their social connections. But though it's fun to remember how sophisticated I felt in my mother's raincoat, what pleasure that thought brings me now is muddied by all that's happened since, and by adult awareness of the messages these relatively insignificant instances from childhood were sending.
That said, there's an exuberance here that's hard to stifle. And it's not so different from the exuberance I felt as a child when I put on the coat, or the native exuberance that parental strictures failed to stifle, or the exuberant expectation I feel at the thought of CoVid's passing; that before too long, assuming we survive, we'll be free again to enjoy all the things we've done without for this brief period. Better yet, I suspect we will appreciate them -- and one another -- so much more from having had to do without.
So there you go: playing at art reminds us there are other possibilities; that we can be more than our current situation and our memories, and that how we're living now can have its own gifts, if we make the time to appreciate them.
Learnings: Purple and olive are not in my native color palette.
Again: hard to be bold in a small space.
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