Clippings and Notes

Moving furniture takes your mind off of whether you may have a job tomorrow or not, so the bed is being pushed about the room it is in, sloughing layers of papers saved from this and that. An envelope of newspaper clippings that my Mom had snipped spills onto this bed, and belies the dreams she had. What I read from these yellowed scraps tells of isolation from friends and life, due to her marriage and the life she was doled.

She saved items mostly from the two Buffalo papers, The Buffalo Evening News and the Courier-Express; there were several clothing tags from garments she bought regarding fabric care, and notes of measurement for curtains and carpet. These are what she was allowed as portals to a world outside. I say it is my job to report her interests, of things that seemed important, for today the clippings are being thrown away.

This is what her eyes took in, what she deemed helpful to keep life in order: German events in the city, shops for cuckoo clocks and Hummel figurines; recipes for crowds, car care, window cleaning formulas, and hints on freezing candles to prevent dripping wax. Wall washing hints. About eight different snips of articles on vinegar, particularly for window cleaning. She used scissors to cut out an imaginary safe world, storing it in shoeboxes and used envelopes. I have two more boxes to go through; this is just the beginning, this first pile.

Pictures of people at dinner, dancing, sitting in conversation over the latest recipe for cabbage and pork chops are framed by pounds of clippings for large crowds, dinner party for eight sort of things. My Mom, so lonely and wistful, not strong enough to get out there where real people and ideas surfaced. Ach, du lieber.

Her flat, lefthanded writing sometimes has numbers or names of stores and companies. Measurement meant hope. The curtains will bring warmth and that note of sparkle to the decor, providing the family with a homey sense of society. A carpet will be comfortable, able to silence hard footsteps, mask and absorb sounds. Feed your family from the five food groups to keep their immune systems functioning and give them happy dispositions. I see, Mama, your thirty pickle recipes were how you kept going when all you had was a newspaper and your soaps and had to have a hot meal on the table or face the terror and violence at five p.m. and on weekends.

In a wonderful world, I would not throw them out, but publish them in a book titled "Dorothy Mae". It would be a handbook for the people who live just under the top layer of life, who live without breathing most of the time so the poltergeists don't eat you up. Invite people over, make a casserole able to feed twelve. Be loud, clink glasses, laugh, turn up the music. It never happened for her. I couldn't save her. One of my biggest failings in this life.

What can be done. Looking back turns you to salt, so I am going back to moving more furniture and throw out some other history, perhaps some of my own. The cat rubs her face on the corner of the laptop screen and goes back to washing her front bib in circling laps. My love, I love you so.

Sleep well. Please. It would do me so much good to think so. Reality is that I can't save anyone but myself, but it does also mean that wishing you well feels good, and that I can lend you a hand if you need. Oh the power of thought, of wishful thinking. Move forward, push the bed. Good night, you are safe.