Tuesday, October 03, 2006

65 Years of Grace


So the Libran mother was approaching her 65th birthday. How's a daughter to celebrate such an event for a woman, no less a mother? The thought arises that an intimate party with 50 or so relatives and friends would be fitting. And so the planning ensues; selection of an Indian restaurant of high caliber, reaching out to family for a save the date call, selection of possible birthday presents. All goes smoothly until a phone call from the mother in which she solemnly notifies daughter that she is not in good health (crutches-bound from a previous illness that continues to take it's toll) and would daughter refrain from planning any large soiree involving mass quantities of friends/family or woodland creatures.

Stumped. But of course I have to concede. It's the woman's request for God's sake. So then what to do? How to celebrate 65 years of daughterhood, sisterhood, motherhood, and friendship. Pondering on that I realized the best way to capture all these roles was through the vehicles of prose and pictures. So this daughter began to research the art of Memory Book making. I began to gather pictures from all manner of sources - My Dad, my brother, my aunts & uncles and finally my own stash of family photogs. What resulted was a mishmash of ancient black and white 'snaps' taken in India with the name of the studio emblazoned on the back. One picture is actually a black and white photo that the studio had taken upon themself to paint. Unlucky for the studio, Mom wore a gorgeous sari of peacock blue with numerous 'eye' of the peacock in a multitude of colors; pink, yellow, green, red and so on. Can you imagine the poor sot who had to paint pix?

More photos were unearthed. Mom and Dad's wedding picture. The picture of me on my belly - fat head, big hair and dimpled elbows. Pictures of the dog long since departed. Pictures of grandparents and family who have left this earth. I realized I had many areas to cover and being the writer that I am, blocked them into themes. Then came the fun job of scanning and reducing precious pix that no copy machine could ever replace. I took the advice of several professional book makers and kept to theme-oriented pages rather than splattering images left and right. This proved most helpful and I was able to create 40 pages of images, with each page telling a story through words and pictures. Keep in mind this took 3 weeks of arduous snipping, glueing (non acidic), cutting with ragged edges scissors that I purchased from Michaels, my favorite new shopping destination. By the end of 3 weeks my back was arched in an old ladies sciatic position. My hands were discolored from the glue and my fiance hadn't seen me in bed before 1:00 am the entire time.

Hope it's worth it, he says. Speaking words I dared not say.

Comes the actual birthday. The drive down to Maryland in Yom Kippur traffic. Oy! The traffic-ridden jaunt to the nation's capitol - deep within Connecticut Street territory. The seating at an upscale Indian restaurant and finally, the giving of gifts. Mom, here's a little something special. Raised eyebrows, sighs and the flipping of pages. Then she does it again. And again, pointing out this to Dad and that to my brother. She clutches it the entire evening and we deposit it back in its case to make room for the food. The stuffed Brinjals are tasty, albeit not spicy enough. The lamb Empanadas are delish! Flakey and hot. The Tandoori medley my brother orders is cute although so small as to barely satisfy his 6 year old daughter. Dad ignores his lamb, pining for Mom's cooking.

Off to home. Two days later I receive a call from the Birthday Girl who informs me that she has been reading my book. Rekhalu, she tells me, it's so lovely. I have just one request. I want to add more pages of my own.

So be it.