Dancing with Dad

In continuing my look at the legacies we leave behind, I have been looking at back at some of the things that are now a part of who I am, thanks to the gifts of others.  Sometimes we don't realize the gifts we are given until much later in life. Oftentimes, it only takes a small memory to remind us of that gift.

My dad was a dancer.  He was light on his feet and seemed to glide across the dance floor. He made every move look easy.  As a girl, I used to stand on his feet while he waltzed me around the room.  I learned the box step, the fox trot, and the two-step this way. When I got older, he used to put some old Glen Miller tunes on the phonograph and teach me to follow his lead through the jitterbug and something called the shag-a-lag.

But as I became a teenager, I thought his dances were funny and old-fashioned.  This was the rock-and-roll era. I was learning to do the Twist and the Boogaloo.  The idea of dancing without touching your partner was totally foreign to Dad. Dancing was a form of intimacy and communication with a partner. The kids on American Bandstand seemed lost in their own world, jumping up and down in random, and not communicating with each other at all. Even the slow dances were nothing more than a public embrace in his eyes. I scoffed at his old-fashioned views. "You just don't understand!" I wailed, but there was no mistaking the hurt when I no longer wanted to dance with him.  

As I grew older, I came to appreciate the practiced steps and fluid movement of the steps he had taught me. (I'm sure that is why I'm such a fan of "Dancing With The Stars.") Unfortunately, there were no more partners to share them with.  Dad passed away shortly before my 17th birthday. Men my age also grew up with rock-and-roll and no longer had the energy for those dances.  The music I had loved as a teenager was now too loud and many of the lyrics I had sung to on the radio, now sounded silly and strange.  Instead, I found myself singing along to the old standards Dad had taught me to dance to.

I don't think I can still remember all the moves, but whenever I listen to the swing music of the big band era I can close my eyes and dance with my dad just like we used to.  We move in harmony as people do who have danced together for a long time. I'm sure the judges would give us a perfect 10.

A Mother's Legacy

Mom passed away last week, but she didn't go quietly.  Always one to challenge tradition, she left behind a legacy as an independent and feisty woman that will be remembered fondly by her family and friends for many years. 

At the age of 50, she took up motorcycle riding...not just a recreational scooter, but a full on road bike that she rode cross country every summer until she was in her 70's. The bike was so big that if she dropped it, it took several people to help her get it upright. She especially loved being the "cool" teacher roaring up to her middle school classroom when the weather was good, while her students lined up at the window to watch her arrival.

Her students loved her. She was tough on them, but she loved them and they responded with respect and adoration. Her lessons went far beyond the subject matter she taught.  She taught them about the importance of living an independent and productive life. Many of her students continued to stay in contact with her long after they had grown and had children of their own.

Her snow white hair struck a strong contrast to the ever present red she preferred in her clothing and accessories.  Red was definitely her color.  Her house was filled with it. Even her motorcycle and helmet were red! It reflected her love of life and her need to be in the center of the action.

Even as she aged and required the help of a full-time caretaker, she clung tightly to her independence. When she had to sell her beloved motorcycle, she took up 4-wheeling in the Arkansas mountains. She required little in the way of comforts, preferring instead, to live a simple life away from the fast-paced life of the city. Nothing pleased her more than spending a weekend with my sister and her friends "off the grid" at a cabin in the Ozarks.

Toward the end, she became cantankerous and hard to get along with, and yet, we forgave her.  No matter how harsh she sometimes acted toward adults, she always had a kind word and plenty of patience for the children. She was, after all, grandma to the entire community.  Many people did not know her by any other name. 

When Grandma Dorothy left us, she left a vacant spot in all our hearts. But memories have a way of softening over time.  Because of her legacy, we will fill the empty spot with fond memories every time we think of her. But most of all, when we feel defeated and ready to give up, we will remember her love of life and how hard she fought to hang on to it.

Putting On A Face

With the release of The Stone House Legacy, I have begun to think more about the legacies left for me by those who passed through this life before me. The other day, I told my husband I would be ready to leave the house as soon as I "put on a face." He looked at me with an odd expression and I paused mid-step as a vision of my grandmother flashed through my memory.

NanNan, as she preferred to be called, never left the house without her make-up, hat and gloves. She was hopelessly stuck in a bygone era when ladies never left the house unless they were properly attired. I used to lie on her bed with my chin in my hands watching her morning ritual whenever I had the privilege of spending the night.  It took her hours to get ready to go out while she "put on her face" to greet the public.  Dressing for the day was handled with great care.Her dresser was covered in lace doilies and she had all manner of lotions and powders that were magical and mysterious to me. Her "delicates" were always hand-washed with special soaps and smelled of lavender. She was extremely proud of her small narrow feet and spoke with pride of having to special order her shoes in a size AAA narrow. 

Back on the farm, where we lived, make-up was a luxury we could never afford. I had an old mirror in the room I shared with my sister, but it was cracked and much of the silver had worn off. There was a single light bulb to illuminate the room and a myriad of extension cords running from the single outlet on the wall. We shared the room with all manner of spiders, and wasps lived in their muddy nests high in the window sills. Years ago someone had tried to paste wallpaper over the cement walls, but it had long-ago peeled and hung sadly from the walls and ceilings. When we tried to tear it down, showers of cement dust rained down upon us, so we left it be.

Sleep-overs at Grandma's house were a glimpse into another world. The house was small, but always fastidiously kept.  There were lace curtains on the window and a pink bedspread with quilted dolls on it that made me feel like a princess. Going shopping with Grandma was an adventure back into the times of the great department stores with several floors dedicated to each type of merchandise. I was enthralled by the elevator cages with  the operator dressed in a spiffy uniform who announced each floor. I imagined myself  to be a grand lady tagging along beside her and dutifully stuck out my pinkie finger when we lunched in the tea room on the upper floor.

I am indebted to my grandmother for this glimpse into a world I might never have known otherwise. She helped me to see that we are not limited by our environment. Who we become in life is our choice. We can blame the world for the misfortunes we suffer in life, or we can rise above them. Even today, I feel I must "put on my face" just to go to the grocery store or my Pilates class. It's my way for letting the world know I am ready to face whatever the day has in store for me. This was my grandmother's legacy to me.

My Mother's Songs

Not too long ago, my 90 year-old mother was introduced to her new great grandson.  Mom was in failing health and not expected to survive. When the child was placed in her arms, she immediately broke into a huge smile and began to sing. I looked at my son who was beaming with pride and we exchanged a smile.  These were the same songs she had sung to me as a child and the same ones I had sung to him. They were silly tunes and I think most of the words were made up as she went along, but the baby smiled and cooed and enjoyed them as much as we had.

As I reflect on the legacy that each of us leave behind on our journey through life, I am struck by the realization that it's often the simplest things we do that make the biggest impression.  My own children are now grown with children of their own and I am constantly surprised by their memories.  As a parent, I worked hard to create what I thought would be lasting memories, but these are not the things they remember.  More often it's things like sharing strawberry milkshakes and singing silly songs that they remember fondly.

If there's a lesson there someplace, it's that we are creating memories every day...not just when we plan an event or make a special attempt at it.  The most lasting memories are those we make unconsciously as we go about the business of living our lives. These are the things that imprint themselves over time and remind us of who we are and where we came from.

My mother survived her near-death experience and continues to sing to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  My birthday would not be complete without a call from her and a croaky version of "Happy Birthday."  We have all continued this tradition with our own children.  Her songs have become her legacy for all of us.

The Legacy of Strong Women

During this time of reflection and thankfulness, I look back on the people who have made an impact on my life and the list of honorees are too numerous to mention. I credit the men in my life for making me fearless and keeping me humble.  In particular, my husband and my son have allowed me to lean on them when time and circumstances overwhelmed me. They had the uncanny ability to refill my reserves when I felt drained and empty. But the strength I drew from them is quite different from the strength I drew from the women in my life. Women are often the unsung heroes of fiction. And it is for that reason that I have chosen to represent strong female protagonists in my writing.

It is the special bond between mothers, daughters, and sisters that ultimately shape the women we become. Unfortunately, when the bond is broken or weak, so is the woman.  Without a strong woman in her life, a she often turns to a man to provide the strength she needs.  Unfortunately, this type of relationship can ultimately lead to subjugation and dependency. (I realize that this is a generalization that may not be true in all cases, but for the sake of argument, bear with me.)

I also believe that we are all are strongly influenced by the culture of the times in which we come of age. At the risk of sounding trite, women have come a long way from the 1970's "either/or" vision of women as housewives or career women. We have even realized that the 1980's view of the superwoman who could actually do it all was completely unrealistic.  Today, the men in the relationship no longer feel threatened by "women's work" and they eagerly embrace their roles as fathers as being more than merely a biological function. With this in mind, I like to place my female protagonist squarely in conflict with the historical and political culture of the times.

As I look at the women in my life - my mother, my sister, my daughter, and my daughters-in-law - I am thankful that they are all strong women and that the times in which we live celebrate that fact. They are not only capable of standing alone on the strength of their own independence, but they have made the men in their lives stronger because of it. They are equal partners in their relationships and will settle for nothing less. This is the legacy they will pass on their children.

COMING IN JANUARY, 2015