Tomato Herring. 17. Pink.

Mom's answers to life's questions.

May 12, 2024

M is for the mishegoss, Mom…

What did she say that guides us forever? What did we inherit from her that presumably helped me get where we are today? Could any of her words resonate with us today?

I thought, “No way. All my mom ever told me was ‘Stand up straight and stop slouching!’ and ‘You’d be so pretty if…’ and, ‘You’ll break it if you keep doing that. Do it my way…’”

The words that hurt and pointed to my flaws are what I remember first. It was easy to do.

Humans tend to remember painful things more easily than what lifts us up. Those painful lessons are supposed to help us stay alive. Help us flee or fight.

Didn’t women always fight with their mothers?
Much of who I am is in reaction to what Mom told me.

I responded internally by defiantly being myself.

—As a preteen, I had my personal reasons for slouching. But that’s another story.

—I knew I would never equal my mom in beauty, so why even try?

—And I was clumsy. So what?

Being myself in response to my mother’s words made me who I am today. Much of what I learned about how to parent came from her in the form of “what not to do.”

Muriel Zeitz San, age 75. Still gorgeous.

Friends told me they believed my mother was a complicated woman. That now resonated with me. I thought about my mom’s childhood: Born in 1929 (The Great Depression), she was the first child of Russian-Jewish immigrants. Her father (at the time) did not believe that girls should read books, what a foolish thing to waste money on! Mom had bought her own book. He threw the book away!

My mother loved reading!!! Life must have been horrendous for this kid who loved books.

Making Mom Laugh!

She was a huge reader, creative, cultured, and best of all, she had a great sense of humor. My brother and I were good for her because she could play with us.

When I was young, I adored my Mom. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, movie-star-gorgeous with her meticulous make-up and her big green eyes. I felt sorry for all the other kids because their moms weren’t as pretty as mine.

She also had a teeny, tiny voice she would use to get our attention.
If a kitten could mew and whisper words simultaneously, that's what it sounded like! And I would melt when I heard it.

If Mom seemed sad I would try to make her happy. My brother and I planned a “variety” show for her. We called it Truckload of Laughs. Because what kid doesn’t want to perform a comedy variety show for their parents?!

We pushed a big dump truck filled with props into the living room. I only remember doing one “sketch” with Paul where I played being a doctor about to operate on him. Paul was ticklish and kept laughing, so I kept laughing and we kept that up until our stomachs hurt.

The best part: Mom was laughing too.

(Of course, it pissed me off when years later she referred to it as a “Wagonload of Chuckles.” Not a wagon!! We had a dump truck!).

Mom Making Us Laugh!

We would beg Mom to tell us stories. “Once upon a time…” and as my brother and I sat there rapt, she continued, "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Peeps and a little boy named Poops and they went for a walk in the …”

We could not contain ourselves. I was probably close to 5 years old and Paul was almost 3. But Mom started cracking up as soon as we did.
Poops and Peeps were our words for feces and urine! How could they even “walk” in the first place?

Playing With Words And Bananas

Mom was a devoted Scrabble player. I loved sitting at the game with her when I was a child because Mom brought out her button collection and let me put them on a Scrabble rack and pretend. I also got to drink the end of her cup of coffee. Sweet and milky, and I felt like such a grown-up!

She did all the New York Times puzzles, and would always finish the Sunday one.

When I was older and living at home while figuring things out, she and I would talk about the puzzles.

Wordplay was always a safe thing to land on.

Other topics like love, life, and choices often led to bitter fights. Fights that wouldn’t end until I moved out.

But that’s when I started leaving Chiquita banana stickers on her things. Not so she would see them right away, but so that one day she’d open a small box of earrings and there would be a banana sticker staring at her.

Making Mom laugh was better than fighting with her.

She began to leave me stickers, and when I left home for good, I’d get an occasional letter from her, with a Chiquita banana sticker.

17 silvery herrings on a pink background. AI-generated.

Tomato Herring, 17, and Pink

It was around this time, sometime in my early adult years, that Mom would be unable to answer a question. Either she was searching for a word or just had no intention of answering. I’d ask her something like, “What time do you want to go to dinner?” She’d say, “17.” And laugh. And I would laugh. Or she would answer with “tomato herring,” or “pink.”
Although she sounded funny and cute saying them, I now wonder if it was a sign.

Because when she was at a loss for words, it was always herring, 17, or pink.

When my mother was first evaluated for dementia in her 70s, she still had a brilliant vocabulary. She seemed to be anxious about going places that were familiar to her. She was living in Oakland, California and I visited her. We went to the supermarket, and Mom, who was driving her car asked me, “Is this the way to go?”
”Mom, you know the way, you’re driving the right way.”
She seemed satisfied that we both agreed, and she got us there and back.

Soon when she was at a loss for words, she would just be quiet.

I visited a year later and saw a crossword puzzle filled in completely. I was happy to see it until I noticed that none of the words she entered were real words.

She was getting lost and could not drive anymore.

We learned she had vascular dementia. Probably because she had been a smoker most of her life. Her veins and arteries were constricted and her brain did not get enough oxygen.

After looking at a lot of memory care places we picked one. One that seemed more lively. She lasted 7 months. Her constricted veins and arteries also meant heart disease. She fell, and broke her pelvis during a heart attack, and never regained consciousness.

Right now, on Mother’s Day 2024, I’m grieving. I miss her for all the things she missed, like my son’s artwork, his delight in the drama workshop, his love of music, and his sense of social justice.

I miss my mom because. Banana stickers.