My mother so loved the Tall Ships, and the Lipizanner stallions.
I am struck by how formal she is, and how classic are your mother's tastes. Which gives me an idea.....
While my mother never mentioned an affinity for Mel Brooks, if I had to think of something that epitomized her personal style, even though she strived for lovely and lush in presentation, at heart she was vaudeville. Or travelling Yiddish theater.
Remember I said yesterday, Cedar, that had you not gone through this painful metamorphosis, when you were old you could well have become brittle and bitter.
I realized I must have channeled an image of your mother. Cedar, if the ballet and dinner parties had worked out, would you have become your mother....had you not so beautifully turned into yourself???? I mean classical and formal....could also be bitter and brittle....if considered from another vantage point.
Is your mother a Grace Kelly? Tippy Hedron? A Hitchcock Ice Maiden?
And I could have become my own...
And then I realized. All of this from yesterday's post is my mother. She never moved beyond it.
This is a personality type that I described. I was never called these words, (Once I was assigned the Thuja type in homeopathy. I think they do have some of these traits.) I just describe what I thought people thought of me. I must have picked up the outlines or the shadow of it, but not the substance...
My mother had nothing timid or fearful about her, except she was phobic about driving.
Exaggeratedly female. Hysterical they call it. Histrionic is another bad word that people would have thrown at me and they did. Overly emotional. Driven by emotions. Shallow. Inconstant.
... the kind of woman who is attention seeking, dramatic, focused on her appearance, attracting men. Maybe even a diva-type.
If I thought of a famous woman to epitomize my mother it would be Sophia Loren, except tiny, more refined. Coquettish instead of brash. Or Gina Lollabrigida.
Me, I want to be Anna Magnani or Anne Bancroft or Judy Holiday, my absolute favorite. I think my humor is very like her.
Cedar, I would love it if you went out to lunch with your mother, but only if you had a dash cam or something on your head. You could say it is hat. So that we could be there too. You could say, excuse me, Mom. And get back to us to read our posts, which you could read verbatim, as you chit chat.
Except D H would have to be in disguise at another table, ready to give aid or to denounce her...
We could have a reality TV show.
The crime of the broccoli. This is exactly the predicament we find ourselves in.
