Mirror, Mirror

My mother was the cement in my high heels.

I have a confession to make. At one time in my life I was rather vain. How this was possible, I do not know, for my mother showed not the least bit of vanity. None whatsoever.  Here, the apple certainly fell far from the tree and kept rolling.

In fact, whenever my mother had a permanent to make her hair appear fuller and wavier, she would often look like a poodle Mom with her poodle do for weeks thereafter. “Mom, are you sure this was the look you were going for?”  I did however, inherit her stick straight hair.

My mother placed an importance on sentimentality rather than on the latest fashion trend. She was a practical, social, and down-to-earth person. Everything I was not, but wished to be. Plus, there was something else quite special about my mother that I deeply admired. She had beautiful manners and garnered respect from everyone she met. Even while donning a Christmas tree light necklace.  Haute couture does not necessarily define the individual. Manners leave a lasting impression and will often upstage the finest tailored clothing.

One of my prized possessions in high school happened to be my designer sapphire blue ski jacket.  I had arrived.  By contrast, my mother’s prized possessions were her children’s arts and crafts, made throughout the years and proudly displayed in our home.  There they remained long after her children became adults.  “Mom, maybe it’s time we find another place for this glazed ceramic green dinosaur.  Afterall, it was made in the Jurassic era.”

My mother was the cement in my high heels.  Had it not been for her, my vanity would have certainly run amuck.  At one point in her career she worked as a teacher at a Shriners Hospital for Children.  At the same time, I was entering my teenage years where a simple pimple could mean the end of the world.  But, my mother would have none of that, having witnessed what these precious children go through on a daily basis.  She would often remark, “You should be grateful for your health.”

I like to think I had a positive influence on my mother.  In her later years, she stopped having her hair permed.  I found a winning hairdresser who could work wonders with her straight hair.  And I know how much she loved my advice on her choice of clothing.  My mother also enjoyed the makeup I would apply to her face, to bring out the beauty of her sage green colored eyes.  “Mom, it’s okay to be self-indulgent.”  This was a permission not often granted to women of her era. I loved helping my mother look and feel beautiful.

As an aside, due to my love for cosmetics, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that in ancient Egypt makeup was not regarded as a form of vanity.  More specifically, it was used as a form of color healing.

One would think by the manner in which I wrote this story that my mother and I had the perfect relationship.  In reality, it was at times most strained.  It was complicated and emotional.  But here’s the truth: I needed my mom as much as she needed me.  We both needed each other, in ways that complemented one another.

At the end of my mother’s life, our relationship truly blossomed, along with an even greater love and respect for one another. In loving retrospect, I will never possess the qualities my mother was endowed with.  However, they live on inside of me as though she were still alive, and to this day they continue to inform and shape the woman I have become.