My Mother Is A Sorceress

I’ve never been much for Hallmark holidays.  Sure, it’s lovely if someone thinks of me and wishes me well, but that’s more than enough for me.  I don’t need gifts, I don’t care about flowers and more and more I just find myself really uncomfortable with the trend towards emotional blackmail and guilt trip demands to spend money because of a date on a calendar.  Mother’s Day, however, is where I concede a little.  Not for myself.  The day belongs to Doris.

I’m a mom and I love and appreciate handmade tokens of love from my kids.  Who wouldn’t swoon over that?  But to me, Mother’s Day is about ONE incredible mom.  Who happens to be my own.  I know, I know, most everyone thinks their mom is the best.  And we’re mostly all correct.  But here in my world, I know I won the jackpot.

To the best of my knowledge, she’s never mopped a floor in high heels and an apron while waiting for her children to arrive from school for their freshly baked cookies and milk.  Before I was born, she was a model, she taught dance, and she raised my 8 siblings doing typical mom things like bringing orange slices to the soccer games, herding cub scouts as the den mother and helping out in the school kitchen.  But I’m the youngest and all of my life, she worked outside the home as the sole breadwinner for the family. 

There was very little that was traditional about my upbringing.  At least not on paper.  From the outside looking in, we probably looked like a wild bunch of long-haired hippies that this single mother could not control!  Those damn kids were banging on drums, wailing on guitars, staying up late and reading underground comic books.  Clearly, we were a danger to society!  But those outsiders didn’t see that we also read encyclopedias for fun, made homemade bread and ate our vegetables.

It’s not that she couldn’t control us.  She chose not to.  She chose to see each of our strengths, weaknesses and passions and to nurture them rather than squash them.  Our only rule was the Golden Rule and that covered everything.

 I’m going to let you in on a little secret.  Magic happened in our home.  My mother is a sorceress.

Wizardry is the only explanation.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.  How else would it be possible that we always had plenty of healthy food to eat, clean clothes (many sewn especially for us), instruments to play and lessons to play them, and love and encouragement at every moment?  How else could we have a vegetable garden and camping trips filled with adventures and special time by her side?  How else could she be there every single time it mattered?  Magic, obviously.

With one meager income and so many mouths to feed, how is it possible that we had guitars and amplifiers and drumsets and sticks and lessons for whatever we wanted to do?  How did we have cookies for the classroom and a costume for a play with no advance notice?  How is it possible that we had everything we needed and most of what we wanted?  How is it possible that she did all of that and STILL maintained her own hobbies and friendships and retained a really cool and interesting persona if not by magic?

It’s true that she taught us to cook and do laundry.  She taught us how to care for one another, so perhaps there’s no mystery there.  But the real magic happened with a door that was never locked.  We wildly unsupervised kids could have gone anywhere we wanted.  We mostly chose home.  While the other grownups of the neighborhood may have been judging her non-traditional ways, their own children were flocking to her doorstep for some of her mojo.  On any given day, there was an extra kid at our table or a neighborhood teen asleep on our couch.  Family lore tells of a red haired boy who ate with us for a week before anyone thought to ask whose friend he was.  No one knew him.  He just found his way to our table as if conjured by some magic spell.  What was the draw?  I think my mother sent out a Siren Song of Love, Welcome, Acceptance, and Peace that brought fragile souls to our unlocked door.

My friends have always been drawn to my mother.  One said “Your mother is Tea and Cinnamon Toast” and I think she hit the nail on the head.  In her presence, there is comfort, warmth and calm and just breathing it in is enough to heal tender and broken things.  As if by magic.

She studied metaphysics before it had a name.  She spoke with ghosts and received guidance well before the Long Island Medium bought her first can of hairspray.  Her hands brought forth healing before anyone gave her a name for what she was doing.  Still, she doubts her own abilities and questions her own strength.  In those moments, I remind her that she has survived challenges that no mere mortal could ever possibly conquer.

Skeptics would say maybe she’s just a very good listener with a loving heart, an open mind and a bit of good luck.  But they don’t know my mother like I do.  I know that she has amazing magical powers and that she is secretly a Sorceress.  She must be.  It’s the only explanation.