Mom, I have more sweet memories of being with you than I can
ever count or write about. I was in awe when you readied yourself to go out;
there you were, standing in front of your dresser, elegant in a red dress,
putting on lipstick, then earrings, and lastly the gloves. I wanted be just
like you. You always looked put together with matching colors, hats, gloves,
purses and the right jewelery for every occasion.
I stood at the sink drying dishes while you told me stories
of your childhood, of our heritage, about the Great Depression. You weren’t
afraid to share how you had foibles. When you couldn’t get a job, you were told
by a government worker where you could get some extra food. You proclaimed: “I don’t take charity.” Then the man
standing behind you tapped on your shoulder and said: “What do you think we all
have to do, Lady?” I learned about false pride from that story.
You were active in the P.T.A. and combined your love of
singing for a fundraiser. You entertained the PTA one year by doing a faux “strip
tease” removing layers of clothing. You never really bared anything. I got
teased plenty in school by some boys in my fifth grade class. You embarrassed
me then.
You were a quintessential woman of your time. Whatever you
read in your magazines about making your husband happy you did. After a day of
homemaking on summer evenings, you had us all freshened up and changed for our
dinner.
You loved to buy every vegetable, or piece of fruit in the
market that was exotic. Back in the Chicago area, avocados were called
alligator pears. You brought that home and made a pate with onions and shredded
carrots. You got all your “modern” recipes from The Ladies Home Journal, or
Women’s Day. With each menu being
based on not mixing milk and meat, our dinners were planned with salad, soup,
cooked vegetable, and dessert.
You loved costumes, for Purim and Halloween, or school
plays, you made them for us. You and Dad always wore great costumes also. You
gave us picnics, trips to every museum, parks, theater, opera, ballet. You
choreographed dances I did at our synagogue.
Pearl Lipkin, I love you and miss you and am grateful I was
taught by you.
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