This is the photograph that inspired the sketch I posted on Instagram earlier last week. It’s a photo of my mother in Greece, sometime in the very early 80s when she would have been close to 50. She made the trip with her older sister (mid-60s at the time, I’d guess) after Mom had audited an Art History course — a bold move for a shy introvert, that course, but one of my sisters was taking it for credit and, knowing Mom’s keen interest, suggested she accompany her. And then Mom talked her sister into accompanying her on an organized tour the college offered.
The first time she’d travelled without my Dad since they’d married in ’52 (except a weekend she’d driven “across the border” for a getaway with her teen-aged daughter, Me — I wonder if she’d enjoyed that anymore than I did!). She’d been to England with him twice by then, I think. Once by car across Canada and then boat across the Atlantic, my brother nine months, me just Two running around the deck while she was very green, severely seasick . . .
The second time, they went on their own for my Grandma’s funeral and left me, at 18 or so, looking after my younger siblings. Six of us were still under twelve at the time, and I’m not sure if she would have worried more, while away, about those younger six, or if would have been the possible antics of the Teen Half that constrained her enjoyment at being released from domestic duties for the week or two. Or the noisy and emotional terrain of the English Relatives — her in-laws — reuniting after the loss of a Beloved Matriarch.
So this trip in ’81 or ’82 would have been a big deal. Life had eased a bit for her by then — still four teens at home, but none of the constant care that younger ones demand. And leaving them with my Dad — who was always willing and able to pitch in with any and all cooking and cleaning — must have been much more freeing than leaving the Responsible Older Teen in charge. Also, although my Dad was her biggest supporter, partner, and friend, his was a big personality, and she might have been curious to see what it felt to move away from that for a bit.
Other than that, though, I can’t tell you much about that trip, to my regret and even shame. I know I was proud of, and happy for, her that she could still head off on an adventure. Happy that she was spending time with an older sister she admired. I know that I asked her questions about it afterward, listened to her talk about the donkeys at the beach, the food she loved ordering, the retsina she cultivated a taste for. That she wished she had had longer there (she would return with Dad a few years later and rent a little cottage near the beach, as I remember or mis-remember). But beyond that, there’s so much I don’t know, so much I didn’t have time to hear. So much I’d love to ask now, when it’s obviously too late. And who knows, perhaps she wanted to keep some of it to herself, perhaps my response might have spoiled something for her. . . .
I had two small children by then, and although we’d bought a house only a five-minute drive from my parents’ home, we would either have been readying ourselves for a big move to a northern coastal town a two days’ drive away — or we’d already moved. And I was either pregnant with my third or perhaps had a Five, a Two, a newborn by then, all depending on when she posed for this photo. So I could cut myself some slack for not knowing or remembering much about what would have been a milestone experience for her. And for the awkwardness of her personality, acknowledged by all of us although navigated more successfully by some sibs, better listeners. . . I still regret the missed opportunities, though. . .
And so I was delighted when this photo appeared on my maternal Extended Family facebook page, uploaded by the granddaughter of my Aunt Marguerite. This first cousin, once removed (am I right? She’s the daughter of my cousin) has not only worked (with another cousin) to write and self-publish a family history stretching back 300 years or so, but has also been working her way through an abundance of photos left behind as my mother’s generation has dwindled (the baby of the family, my uncle B, is the sole survivor of the “five boys and five girls”).
As good as this cousin has been with tracing genealogical records through old archives (many written almost illegibly, often in French), she’s having to rely more on the family’s Hive Mind for anecdotal history. So she’ll upload a photo to our FB group page and speculate on who might be in it and where and what the event — and then wait for cousins and second cousins and spouses and Uncle B to supply information. My own four would not be able to supply much, although I’ve tried to tell them a story or two. . .
Not sure what I think of that, but I’m mulling at the moment. Truly, there’s only so much we can carry forward, and when you have — as I did — seven aunts and eleven uncles and their spouses!!, and when your parents are youngest and near-to-youngest in their respective families, well. . . .
But I’m definitely going to make sure mine all know their Grandma (and my grandkids know that their Great-Grandma) went to Greece with her sister, my Auntie Marguerite (who was known, among other things, for driving her Ford Anglia to the Coast from the BC Interior in surprisingly few hours — I’ve probably mis-remembered some element even here), when she was only a few years older than my daughter is now. I might even try to tell them how strange it feels to be able to hold those two similarly aged women side by side in my mind, my mother, my daughter. That my mother then was already a grandmother. That I’m a grandmother now, a granddaughter already near the Five-Year Plan that will see her emerge into adulthood.
Or not. I might just show them this sketch. We’ve been kid-sitting this week (a Nine, a Seven, a Dog, Two very Nocturnal Cats), and the Seven, my grandson, studied the sketch carefully and then wanted to see the photo. More careful study, and then he turned and gave me the thumbs-up, based on how accurately he thought I’d replicated the ruins in the background. He’s very generous. A sweet kid. . .
And given his skills as an Art Critic and the importance he gives to attentive replication of the original, I will finish by offering you this “Polaroid photograph” he “took” of me for the camera he made out of materials found in our recycling bin (likenesses of Granddad and of the Nine were also stashed in the camera for magical display after the subject said “Cheese”).
I love that just before he’d compared a sketch I’d drawn with the old photograph that had inspired it, he’d drawn a sketch that purported to BE a photograph. And I’m pleased that both my sketch (and the photo that inspired it) and his sketch (click here to see the video inspired by his sketch) are about family and memory and making. . . .
If he remembers me with greying curls, a navy striped dress, open arms, and a big smile, that might be a decent legacy. . . (Also hoping he’ll remember those moments that escape the photo albums or Facebook pages: how many chapters in a row I was willing to read him at bedtime. . . and possibly that after the book was finished, I lay next to him in the dark while we both listened to a guided Yoga Nidra . . . He told me the first day that he made it to “Take your attention to your forehead,” and then the third day was pleased that he heard “Take your attention to your Right hand thumb” before he faded. . . . )
Okay, that’s it for my Monday Memory-Maundering . . . The microphone is all yours now, open below in the Comments section.
xo,
f
I love family stories and mementos. Yours are lovely, and that photo of your Mom, all those years ago! She could appear in that outfit today and not feel out of style. Seems like you resemble her just a bit. I also enjoy the sketches you have been showing us – yours and your grandson’s. Both keepers, for sure! Thank you for sharing your life with your legion of unknown followers. If you should ever travel to California, you are invited to dinner.
Author
Thanks, Marci — Generous offer, encouraging words!
And I think the same about what Mom wears in that photo — timeless, isn’t it?!
Wow! Do you ever look like your mother, Frances. Such a lovely, relaxed posed she has; such bravery to set off like that given how much of an introvert she seemed to be. It all started with an inspiring art history teacher; funny how sometimes that is “all” it takes.
I know for certain your grandson will remember the chapter, then another and another read to him before sleep. Must be such a secure feeling for him to know he can drift off to the sounds of whatever tale you are reading him.
The image of you two sharing the yoga nidra experience is so touching. Another memory cemented in his soul for future reference.
Old photographs- and memories, both of which I am taking more care to record somehow after occasional prompts I slyly give to my mother yield rich detail have been keeping me busy these past 2 years. I don’t want to forget what she tells me. Although I have always been interested in family stories, lately there is a need to grasp them tighter.
A.in London( but in Maine working)
Author
Hello A, Happy to know you’re still out there and well and making the most of time with your mother! Brava!
Despite being taken in the early 80s, there’s an old-world sensibility to your mother’s outfit and even her pose. And the family resemblance between you and your mum is unmistakable. The photo and sketch are charming and special. I’m glad your mum enjoyed her trip. I visited Greece in 1974 when I was a 20 year-old student and cherish wonderful memories of unfettered access to ancient sites, with few people around to limit the experience. I know it would be different today, and for good reasons, but I feel lucky to have visited so long ago. My family came to Australia from Cyprus and my mum was an wonderful cook, so excellent Greek food was part of family life. Unlike your mum, I didn’t enjoy a lot of the food in Greece. I found it too heavy and was surprised that restaurants often served meals cold, which did not sit well with me at all. At least the bread and pastries were familiar and delicious! I too regret missed opportunities to have learned more about my own parents. Perhaps it’s important for children’s development that they see their parents primarily as care-givers and not so much as autonomous people. The tale of your grandson and the “Polaroids” warmed my heart.
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You were indeed lucky to have visited that long ago.
I’ve never tasted Greek food in Greece, but there are many Greek restaurants here in Vancouver and I enjoy what they serve. You will have been spoiled, of course, having it made at home by a good cook who knew the cuisine well.
Great post Frances. The sketch catches Mom perfectly
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Thanks! Means so much coming from you xoxo
I truly enjoyed your post but am too stressed/distracted to write a coherent response other than: What book were you reading your grandson? The season of grandchildren’s birthdays is rapidly approaching and I’m always looking for recommendations for kids books.
Author
I was reading him Roald Dahl’s George and his Marvellous Medicine — on the recommendation of our Seven in Rome who had just read it and found it hilarious. Not a particular favourite of mine, and we’ve moved on, now, to the classic Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I’ll do a bit of thinking on this and see if I can scramble together a few suggestions for you, but meanwhile, I will tell you that we had great success with an inexpensive paperback copy of a Jokes for Kids book at Christmas. Although I warn ahead of time that you will have to listen to many, many jokes. . .
I agree with Maria the photo of your mum does have an old world look and feel. At first I thought you had made a typo and it should be 1931 not 81! I spent a summer in Greece in 1977 with my now husband. We were surving quite well on $10 a day…though the hostels were maybe not the cleanest. At 21 I didnt worry about that. Only happy to clamber over ruins and marvel at how old everything was. I am from UK my husband Canada, we had vastly different ideas of what constituted old. So happy now to have those memories. I never acquired a tsste for retsina though.
I have a photo of my mother taken @ 1944 she is in uniform, but obviously for a hot climate. She would be 18/19? I asked her once where it was taken. ‘ oh during the war’ . I never pushed her as to where and what she was doing…too late now.
That was a lovely read Frances . I wonder whether your mum & I ever passed close by each other at one of those ancient sites ? I think I’d have noticed her ‘cool’ outfit if I had . Most of us regret not listening to our parents more & wish we’d asked more questions but they were always going to be there & we were busy making our way through life . I wish I could go through my family history research with my dad now . He’d be fascinated by his adventurous , travelling ancestors especially the rogues . He knew nothing of this , thinking his father was an orphan with no family records . I’d show him the photo of the American grandfather he was never aware of & explain what an awful man he was & he’d roar with laughter .
PS I’m no drinker but share your mum’s taste for retsina , must be ice cold though otherwise it’s like turpentine !
I’ve never heard these stories about your parents…it is so interesting to imagine your mother travelling from Canada to Greece….
Lovely to follow different topics of your inspiration and sketches
I loved to listen to the stories of my grandparents(even grandgrandmothers)-do we change them in our memories as time goes by? I’m not sure….maybe only snippets stay…
I guess that there are a lot of things about our parents that we’ve missed somehow, when we study,raise a family, work……
Dottoressa
I had the same thought that your mother is so stylish and you do resemble her. My own mom took her mother to Italy around the same time. My grandmother had come here from Italy as an infant and never went back, so when a trip was offered they took advantage. My mom had not traveled without my father before, and even them our family did not do much in the way of travel, a few visits to dad’s family in and around Boston and some time at Cape Cod, that was about it. So this trip was a big deal. Mom always wanted to return but sadly that never happened.
My son did a very similar “portrait” of me when he was perhaps five. a stick figure, smiling face, stick arms open wide. the biggest difference is that he put buttons down my torso instead of the stripes. I had it framed and it is now part of my bedroom gallery wall.
Author
How wonderful that your mother took her mother back to Italy for a visit! I never travelled with my mom after the weekend away with her when I was in my early teens.
Also great that you kept that early portrait — fun to have it included on your gallery wall.
We might have guessed that the photo is of your mother. You look so much like her. As others have also mentioned, she is dressed in such a classic outfit from the time. What a great adventure for her!
Isn’t it strange to see photos of our mothers when they were younger than we now are?
I was in a department store years ago, when I was in my 20s. I came around the corner and there was my aunt (my father’s sister) whom I hadn’t seen in years. She gasped and said that I looked exactly like my mother when she was my age. I couldn’t see it at the time. I had a particular photo of my mother in mind when she was about my age and I didn’t think that we looked at all alike. Today, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see her. Once we both had aged, I started seeing just how much we look like each other.
What a great project your cousin is undertaking. Others will be so glad to have the family reference material, and stories make it even better.
And your family will have your sketch, which is lovely.
Author
I’m the same — never ever saw a likeness with my mother, always thought I had more features from my dad’s side of the family. But the mirror these days tells a different story, and I can also see — or even feel, in my face — gestures, expressions that are indisputably hers.
Agree with others about the likeness. A lovely photo and sketch! I think we all probably have those regrets about not being better (or more interested) listeners. Thanks for another inspiring post!
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Thank you, and you’re very welcome!
So many things to think about in your post. How women’s lives have changes within one generation, from our mothers to ourselves. Alle the things we should have asked our parents and never did. The way travelling has changed in the last decades.
My mother was an ardent traveller, she loved to plan our family trips, read the railway timetable, book accomodations etc. She used to joke that she should have taken a job in a travel agency, and I am sure she would have been very good at it. Later in life she was limited by her chronic heart desease, but she encouraged her daughters to follow in her footsteps and never objected when we went as far as Latin America. Which, at the time, meant not hearing anything from us for weeks, as letters were slow and phone calls extremely expensive. At the moment, my nephew and his girlfriend are visiting the same places, and about once a week we receive a message and a photograph from them. Which is lovely, but so very different.
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Travelling has changed So very much! Particularly, as you suggest, the way the distance seems to be shrunk by the possibilities for almost instant communication. Funny, your nephew and his GF might be visiting the same places, but they cannot experience the sense of distance (and attendant feelings of isolation, alienation even, but also liberation, etc.) that you did. So interesting to think about. . . (your mother sounds wonderful! — and she obviously raised a very confident traveller in you!)
I love how you’ve caught your mother leaning. Must have been so rare for her, early on, to have the time and space for a leisurely lean against a low wall in the sun. And then that your grandchild caught your beautiful smile–something not so rare.