Today is my mom's 75th birthday. I have a bit of a physical shock each year on this date, 'cuz of course focusing on my mom getting older only reminds me that I am as well. Of course I manage to make everything about me, right?
I wrote her an e-mail and called her at my brother's place in California (at least I HOPE I did; I had to look up his number online, and an electronic voice answered the number with "please leave a message;" no identifying "you've reached the Schulzes" sorta thing).
Anyway, given the date I've been thinking a lot about my mom, and the life she's had, and the lessons she's taught me -- directly and indirectly. She's taught me a lot about optimism, about hope and faith, about tenacity, about striving for the things you want. She's also taught me lessons I wish I'd never learned. She's a worrier. And having grown up during the height of the Great Depression, she's fixated on money and what a bane it can be when you don't have it. And let's face it, we never really had it. The amazing part is that my parents still managed to raise eight children, and I don't think any of us really noticed the lack.
From my dad I learned a sort of Gary Cooper-esque reserve, but it's being raised by my mom -- while my dad was out toiling to support the family -- that taught me my sharp wit, my sassy tongue, and my pathological inability to accept that, just because authority should be given it's due, authority isn't due blind alliegence.
And were my mom not the little sprite she is, I doubt my flair for humor and performance would ever have been encouraged or honed in those long days we spent together as my older siblings grew up and away.
So here's a big fat "I love you" to Lois Irene Rush Schulz on the occasion of her 75th birthday. You all should be so lucky as to have such a irish-catholic-leprechaun-prankster-mentor-jewish-mother.
So today on the train to work I got one of those rare treats that I so love.
No, I didn't see a hot guy without his shirt on. Keep your dirty minds outta the gutter.
Instead, I was treated to a train conductor who really tried to liven up the usual schpeil. When I got on at 42nd Street and the doors closed, he was all, "Ladies and gentlemen, the next stop is 50th Street. Transfer to the [whatever the transfer points were], and above ground you'll find the famous Colony Record and Sheet Music Store! Have a nice day and beware of the closing doors!" It went on like that. Each stop was really entertaining! I considered staying on the train so I could listen to his routine.
Alas, I was already late for work.
This is why I need to be independently wealthy. So I can indulge these whimsical fancies.
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