Magical Mother

By guest writer Brynne Pedersen Garman

I was always amazed that my mother could, in five minutes, powder her nose, put on some lipstick, and be ready to go.

“They didn’t all come here to look at you.”

“Go run around the house three times”

“Is it life-threatening?”

“Bored people are boring”

“In five years from now, will it matter?

“In ten years from now, will it matter?

When Mitch Albom’s beloved teacher, Morrie Schwartz, was dying of Lou Gehrig’s disease, he wrote a best-selling book that centered around his aphorisms. As my mother struggled with the ugliness of Alzheimer’s, I did not write down her aphorisms. I did not need to. They followed me every day, in every decision I made. But here, today, I share them with you, and maybe you too will get to know Marilyn Cecelia Sutherland Pedersen just a bit better.

Let’s examine the first aphorism: “They didn’t all come here to look at you.” As a young, self-conscious teenage girl, I stared in front of our full-length mirror for hours, changing my hair, my make-up, my outfit. I was always amazed that my mother could, in five minutes, powder her nose, put on some lipstick, fluff her curls, put on an ensemble (no ironing required since she did not believe in fuss) and be ready to go. How did she do that?!!! I must have been forty before I realized her beauty was in her intelligence, her smile, her self-confidence. And yes, they did all look at her as she walked by because Marilyn was the definition of beautiful. She had far better things to do than spend hours in front of a mirror, and in time, thank God, so did I. She taught me that self-consciousness makes us ugly, but self-confidence makes us radiate with beauty.

The second and third aphorisms are parenting strategies: “Run around the house three times” and “Is it life-threatening?”

Marilyn raised six kids while working as a free-lance writer, and later, a high school drama, English and history teacher. Many said, “I don’t know how she does it.” Well, she did it with a lot of help and some smart strategies. The help came from her adoring husband John who did most of the cleaning, meticulously waxing our floors every weekend, chopping wood, washing, folding and sorting laundry. The help came from her teenage daughters Kirie, Lisa and Celia who cooked meals as they babysat little Rolfie and Brynnie while Mom went back to work full-time. But still, on weekends, when we were all bouncing off the walls on a grey rainy day in our small Des Moines home, Mom sometimes had to find her sanity, so she would choose the most rambunctious to run around the house three times to resolve our conflict. Sometimes, she would send all of us out the door. Usually, by the time we returned, we would be rosy-cheeked, sopping wet, and laughing, and the conflict would be over.

I quote the fourth aphorism in my high school classroom sometimes, when kids have forgotten to access their imagination: “Bored people are boring.”

Mom did not suffer whiners and she thought people who complained of boredom were just being lazy. Read a book! Take a walk! Do some chores! Create some art! Play a board game! Listen to music! Create music! Write a story! Write in your journal! She knew that in our household, surrounded by forest in Des Moines, and water at Hood Canal, there was no excuse for complaints of boredom. As an adult, I have learned to always find a way to entertain myself when the world gets dull. Mom taught us that there was an adventure waiting right outside our door – all we had to do was open our eyes and our clenched fists and grab it.

The fifth aphorism can be applied to parenting, or to any event that you are choosing to react to: “Is it life threatening?”

My handsome, intelligent, witty son Ben was a great “surprise” given to me before I had planned on becoming a mother. At age 22, I was book-smart with a college degree but lacked real-world wisdom and experience. My mother had raised six children but it never occurred to me to ask her for advice – I was far too independent and proud. So, needless to say, I struggled – parenting does not come with a training manual. I was also a control freak. My mother and I often clashed when Ben and Averie were young over my strict discipline. I would have a huge reaction if the children did not use the right manners or were not wearing the proper clothing to an event, even if their hair was not brushed a certain way. Mother would always repeat the same thing: “Is it life-threatening?” Over time, I learned what was worth reacting to, and what was worth letting go.

The sixth aphorism, and my personal favorite: “In five years from now, will it matter?”

Although as an adult, I always lived two hours away from my mom, I often phoned her for advice and feedback as a young teacher, speech coach and drama director, and also as I struggled with the challenges of being a wife and partner at a young age. I over-reacted to the small incidences of life, and could not discern between the important issues and the transient ones. My mom always did a good job of listening to me, supporting and empathizing, then asking me this question: “In five years from now, will it matter?

Often, after I vented to mom, I realized I just need to be listened to, and cared for, and the problem was not actually so big after all. As a matter of fact, five years later, none of it mattered at all.

My mother and I had a lot in common: both high school teachers who taught drama and English, both married and had children at the same age.

But my dear mother was a far braver, more daring, and adventurous soul than me. She married an artist who had no money and journeyed “into the wild” of the place we call Pulali on Hood Canal. My mother lived off “the fat of the land” on the vegetables and fruits of her garden and the oysters and clams on her beach. Far into the 1970s, my mother thought nothing of cooking on a woodstove every summer, and doing without a phone, using an outhouse, and throwing away clocks and watches for the summer as she lived a natural life at Pulali unbound by societal constraints. She awakened every day with a glorious smile on her face and boundless optimism. My mother’s curiosity was insatiable as she riddled the world with questions until late into her 70s when the disease of Alzheimer’s took away her words.

Although Marilyn is now resting with her beloved John in the Brinnon settler’s cemetery, her wisdom and great joy surrounds me every day, in every choice I make.

Every time I choose to be happy, I thank my mom.

Every time I choose to NOT react to small insignificant events, I thank my mom.

Every time, I decide NOT to be bored but to grab an adventure before it passes me by, I thank my mom.

Every time I smile at a stranger, I thank my mom.

My mother used to read to us for hours, so I close with a quote from a book she read to my brother Rolfe and me so many times, Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White. I can still hear my mother’s voice reading us these words:

“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life anyway? We’re born, we live a little, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift my life up a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.”

To Charlotte, the spider who gave her life for friendship and love. To my mother, Marilyn, who did the same.

Brynne Pedersen Garman is a mother, grandmother, poet/actor/storyteller, chef, and friend. She finds joy in exploring nature in our beautiful Pacific Northwest and is learning how to ask better questions without already knowing the answers, to sit in the ambiguity of life.