Saturday, December 13, 2008

A Magical Mama

Earlier this year William Styron's daughter wrote a beautiful essay in the New Yorker about her father, and her life growing up. There were many points to her poignant piece, but one part I took away was her portrait of her mother (I am already one of Styron's greatest fans--he is one of my favorite novelists of all time). The family lived on a farm out in rural Connecticut (or upstate New York, can't quite keep it straight) They lived there in financial precariousness, with artists, thinkers and authors moving through their house. Her father, the brilliant novelist, was often distant, distracted and depressed. But her mother labored to make their childhood magical. Despite financial ups and downs, she worked to make life magical for her four children. She was frugal, but also took them shopping at Saks in NYC. She mixed creativity, self-sufficiency with love and strength. I decided she was the kind of mother I wanted to be. I want my children to look back at their childhood as a time of magic. I want them to hold perfect memories, of beauty, tradition, and something to shoot for. I believe our house--however long we can live in it--has already instilled in them a longing for light, big windows, romantic architecture and wild, overgrown gardens with secret paths to explore. I believe our cooking has given them a taste for the finest parmesan cheese, fresh veggies and food prepared with love. I believe our adventures as a family have given them a love of trees, oceans, forests and a love of exploration and the outdoors--as a temple and cathedral to whatever God they choose to worship.
But this Christmas I think a lot about what I want them to remember. I think of how many wonderful memories my parents gave me. I want them to know all the words to the Christmas carols and to know the harmonies. I want them to know the taste of home-made panettone, the feeling of being surrounded by family and cousins. I want them to put on a Christmas play, and to watch family movies on a sheet set up on the porch. I want them to make Christmas cookies, to make Christmas cards, and to give sweet, thoughtful gifts that show a deep knowledge of another person. I want them to taste frothy home-made egg nog and to go to a candle-light service. And I want them to go snow-shoeing in Yosemite by moonlight. That will be a trove of memories.

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