Mother's Day
Crashing a wedding, learning together, and giving thanks
PAST
Most summers I spend a week at the shore in Ocean City, New Jersey. My Aunt Sue and Uncle Bruce generously host. From the time that I was a baby — in fact, when I was still in my mother’s womb — my family would go to Ocean City in the summertime. Bruce and Sue had one, and then two, rental properties there as their working investment towards retirement. There was the huge pain-in-the-ass (PITA) factor of driving down to OC and back through weekend traffic to clean them between renters. Once the PITA grew too large, and the market was looking good, they sold both properties.
Spending time with this branch of the Marsland clan in OC has been a touchstone; seeing my aunt, uncle, cousins, nieces and nephews, catching up on the past year and retelling tales of Marsland lore. When my Nana was still alive, she would be there too, turning a lovely shade of brown while I was working on my sunburn the first few days of sunbathing.
One of the stories my Aunt Sue consistently retells is that of my mom being pregnant at her wedding to Uncle Bruce. My mother wore a bright orange dress with a short hem, showing off her lovely legs. Beneath the dress, her pregnant belly protruded like a little pumpkin. What I like about that story is that I feel included in the Marsland family history, even before consciousness; I was part of the action, and Sue enjoys reminding me of that.
MORE RECENT PAST
When I was fourteen, before I ran away to live with my paternal grandparents, my mom and I agreed to take a confirmation class together. My stepfather Em had been a member of the congregation and choir at Christ Church Cathedral, an Episcopal church in downtown Hartford, CT. If there was a church to which we belonged, that was it, but my mom had never been confirmed, and neither had I. For non-Episcopalians in the crowd: confirmation is the opportunity for teenagers and adults to sacramentally and publicly say “yes” to Jesus and His church as expressed through the Episcopal Church. To be confirmed is to be strengthened for ministry by the Holy Spirit and laying on of apostolic (i.e. a Bishop's) hands. For everyone in the crowd, my favorite saying about being Episcopalian is that we are Catholic light; we have all the pomp and circumstance, but half the guilt.
Mom and I would commute from our rural abode in Amston, CT into Hartford once a week for months. Ironically, one of the other members of the class was a girl named Karen, an old neighbor from West Hartford days, who I used to tear around the neighborhood with on our Big Wheels. On the actual day of confirmation, there was a service during which the Bishop, who would have been William Bradford Turner Hastings, laid his holy hands on our heads. Aside from Karen and the bishop, I have the gestalt of sharing an experience with my mother in which we were almost equals. It was new, different — and welcome. It was a rare opportunity to see her in another light, as a fellow student and traveler.
PRESENT
Last summer my mom came for a visit in Ithaca while my wife was away, and we had a lovely time. One of the highlights for me was going on a sailboat cruise up Cayuga Lake with Captain Dave. He grew up in Ithaca, and has been sailing since he was a wee lad. He knows a lot about the history of not only the various structures on the lake, but also the geography surrounding it. The conversation was wide ranging, so of course we got into the topic of the COVID shots and spike protein. Fortunately, that was a side note to the afternoon, as the weather was too glorious, the skies too beautiful, the sails too full, to dwell on such things as we turned southwest to glide back into Ithaca.
Mother’s Day is too easily subjugated by crass commercialism and jostling for position at a crowded Sunday brunch. What I’d like to celebrate today is the imperfection, humanity, and long-term influence of the mothers in my life. Aunt Sue, Aunt Julie, Nana, Baba, Grandma Jones, Grandma Chavez, Betty Ann, my wife (the consummate mama cat), and the woman who gave me life, my mom. Thank you. I love you.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I really enjoyed reading this today Scott. You have a beautiful mom
and you are a great friend