Another Kind of Mother’s Day
By
Gerry Niskern
“Mothers hold their child’s hand a short while, but hold the memory in their hearts forever.”
Unknown author
Over the years I have written many essays of Mother’s Day tributes to my mom. She was the best. But I think she, and most other mothers would agree with me that the role we have as a mother is the greatest reward in the world.
When I was a little girl and grownups asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was always, “a mother”. I’m fortunate enough to remember many, many details of each of my kid’s birth, infancy, toddler years and school years too.
I remember each tiny face. The softest skin on one, long eye lashes on another and the rosy cheeks and blond curl on top on the third. I loved recognizing which family member they each resembled at first and watching their personalities develope in the first few months and change over the years.
One slept thru the night from day one; The other two by six weeks. All three talked early, around a year. One walked at nine months and the other two walked at about ten months. Two played carefully with their toys and one liked to throw his! Later on, One liked to save her allowance, one would spend, but only if he was going to get “lots of money back” and one beat a hot path to the store every week to blow his allowance.
I remember who was a good eater and what each liked the best as babies. As they grew I loved cooking for them and I’m sorry to say that I insisted on one meal a week of the “hated liver and onions”. Back then mothers were told that that’s how to see that kids got their iron. (they’ve never forgiven me for that.) One of them always counted the rolls at dinner time and told everyone how many they could have. Unfortunately, they did that when we had company for dinner too!
It was such fun teaching each one the many games I had played as a kid. I loved helping them decide what to buy for their dad for Christmas. And all the Christmas mornings watching them open presents that Santa had brought.
Birthdays and Easter bring more memories. All of the egg coloring and egg hunts were precious times. Summer fun in the pool and school days too.
Then I turned around one day and….suddenly everyone was grownup and gone!
Those memories were mine and mine alone and writing about Mother’s Day this year, all I can say is “It was my pleasure!”

“Scents of Summer”

By

Gerry Niskern

The summer of 2023 is fast approaching. Looking back, here are some of my memories of summer. Are any of them yours?
While walking past a newly moved lawn the other day, it occurred to me that the charisma of summertime is all in the smell. Think about it. Does that fragrance of freshly cut lawn remind you of rolling down grassy banks with your cousins amid peals of laughter? Or perhaps the aroma of grass was mingled with the scent of the dust freshly watered down for the first pitch in your baseball game. You can smell it now, can’t you?
After the game nothing was better than the tangy citrus scent of cold lemonade unless it was the first icy gulp after a hot game.
If you grew up here in the valley, surely you remember the aroma
the cantaloupe sheds out on Grand Ave as you drove past this time of year. How long since cantaloupes in the supermarket smelled like that?
Speaking of melons there used to a family on West Jefferson, around llth Avenue, that sold the best watermelons in the valley. They kept them cold in large soda pop coolers. After much thumping and checking for sugar spots, your mother selected her melon. They always plugged it for her. No need. They were all winners. Everyone gathered around the table at home. When she slid the knife into the dark rind, the melon split apart with a loud crack releasing the familiar sweet aroma. It was heaven.
The fragrance of honey suckle and roses mingled with the ripe figs in our neighborhood. When the temperature hovered at 115, the smell of hot tar in the asphalt while we were bike riding was even stronger than the pungent odor of the Tamarisk trees as we relaxed on a wide limb while cooling off in the shade of the branches.
Summertime always sent older sisters out into the back yard seeking a tan. Soon the exotic smell of coconut oil rose from warm bodies. Inside the house the fresh, clean cooler pads made from shredded aspen wood meant summer was here.
Saturday brought the scorch of hot iron on the damp cloth as mom pressed dad’s pants for Sunday church. If you were allowed to go downtown on Saturday, the candy counters at Newberrys or Woolworth on Washington beckoned with chocolate aroma. And if that didn’t take your quarter, then the Carmel corn shop on Monroe tried.
The odor of cigars wrinkled your nostrils if you stepped into the lobby of the Adams hotel, just for a peek, of course. A trip past the Chinese Green Dragon that emitted the wonderful aroma of onions and spices on East Jefferson wasn’t on the way to anything, but the giant green neon dragon was fascinating to watch.
If the movie theatre was your destination, the smell of freshly popped corn beckoned.
Sunday afternoon meant family picnic time at Riverside Park down on South Central Avenue. The swimming pool was great. Then again, wading through the footbath that reeked with the smell of heavy chlorine you were required to walk through before entering the pool was gross. After a cool swim, the sputtering and popping of roasting hot dogs mingled with the savory smell of Mom’s potato salad. We washed it all down with a bottle of Barq’s, root beer, orange or strawberry.
The summer week was complete.

“Change of Plans”

My great-grandson will be finishing up his residency soon. He is an Internal Medicine specialist. He has been away from his family and working hard for seven long years. In this great-grandmother’s opinion, the hospital where he accepts a position will be “darn lucky” to have him!
Years ago when our children and even grandchildren, were grown up, his generous mother trusted us to take him on vacation with us for several summers.

I’m remembering many years ago watching this great-grandson and a new friend building a sandcastle on the beach. After a while, the girl asked, “Are you his grandparents?”
“No,” I replied. “ We’re his great-grandparents.”
“Whoa” she said, “Well, isn’t anyone else here with you all?”
“No, he’s just here with us.” I answered.
“Whoa”
That had been my reaction exactly back then when someone in our family asked our nine- year- old great-grandson if he wanted to go with my husband and I on our annual trip to California. His parents were expecting a new baby and I confess it took a while for the idea to grow on me, then I got busy and changed hotel and plane reservations to include a great-grandchild.
His Daddy delivered the youngster on our doorstep the evening before our flight. My husband tried to lift his backpack. He couldn’t. “What on earth do you have in here?”
“Some trail mix, an electronic fishing game, a gum making kit, three shell reference books, five story books, cookies (all melted together) and my world map.”
The trail mix, one shell book, and the world map were allowed to stay.
At Laguna Beach he played in the surf with a little boy from Russia. We had a world geography lesson back in the room where his great-grandfather helped him locate Russia on the world map. We were used to hearing different dialects spoken on the boardwalk, but our great-grandson was fascinated with the many languages he heard. One evening he saw a large group of women wearing beautiful long dresses with scarves covering their hair and part of their face. He asked their guide about them and learned they were from Jordan; and were the wives of a Sultan. When we got back to the hotel that evening, out came the map again.

He persuaded us to try different ethnic restaurants that we had always passed by. He was willing to order and finish exotic new dishes. We found we all enjoyed the variety. Looking at familiar sights through the fresh eyes of a nine year old brought exhilarating sparkle to our yearly trip. We didn’t have our yearly romantic get-away, but we had lots of fun.
We explored the tide pools in early light of dawn. We learned to chase the surf and quickly gather shells before another wave came crashing in. Our paddle ball skills were honed to perfection. Luckily, I only had to explain once that each person washed the sand out of his own swimsuit and hung it out to dry. Best of all, we had someone always willing to go after ice!
The trail mix in his backpack came in handy when our return flight waited in line on the tarmac at the Newport airport for two hours and we missed lunch.
On the trip home I knew we had passed a kind of milestone when my great-grandson turned to me and asked, “Grandma, could we go to the Grand Canyon next July?”
“Well, maybe so. Haven’t you been there?”
“No, then we could take the trip.”
“What trip is that, Honey?”
“You know, the mule ride to the bottom.”
Lucky for me his family went on vacation the next summer.

NOTE: Maybe he can take that mule trip down the canyon trail with his little daughter someday!

Full of Easter
By
Gerry Niskern
Easter is next week and everyone will be recording the events with their cell phones; memories saved for anytime they want them.
I have a basket full of memories of Easter as a kid, but most weren’t recorded in photos because cameras and film development was too expensive. My mother started a roll at Christmas, took a little at Easter and maybe finished it to be dropped at the drugstore after a birthday party. So, special memories you just learned to keep in your head and close to your heart.
When I was just past two my uncle had a Candy Store. He sold chances to win a large stuffed rabbit at Easter time. I don’t know if it was just a coincidence, but my mom won that rabbit for me. It was taller than I was. Mr. Rabbit stood upright with orange and green stripped trousers, a green tuxedo coat and very long ears. The rabbit got dirty very quickly in that little coal mining town with me playing with him all the time. One day I looked up and saw him hanging on the clothes line by his ears. Mom had washed him! I was heartbroken because I thought she was hurting him and she couldn’t convince me otherwise.
My dad had serious surgery that year and everyone who came to visit brought him one of those big decorated chocolate covered Easter eggs. Mom always said that every time they went to have one they found a tiny tooth mark where a bite had been taken out of each end of every one! I think I took “the fifth”. I don’t recall that memory.
Up until I was nine I had to wear brown hi top corrective shoes. I hated those shoes. One Easter memory that I fondly remember is when my dad said, “Hey, while we are waiting for everyone to get ready for church lets play a game of checkers. Get the board.” I reached up high on the mantle and resting on top of the board was a pair of brown and white low cut saddle shoes, for me! My very first pair of low cut shoes like everyone else was wearing and that made my Easter!
When my kids were growing up their grandma and grandpa colored dozens of eggs and left early to hide them out in the Carefree area among the boulders. When the kids and their cousins arrived there was a wild Easter Egg hunt. Everyone was fine every year until they noticed Grandma taking the youngest toddler that year and showing him where the eggs were. “ No fair,” they complained. “Grandma is showing him where the eggs are”. Of course she was. She was the Grandma!
So, do you have any memories in your Easter basket that are not recorded in photos and are yours and yours alone?