My mother

The phone just rang. It was my mother.
“ Hello, Jan – I need your help, sweetie .”
“Oh no” I thought. Something’s happened, and we live on opposite sides of the country. But I should have known better than to worry. Her voice was cheerful as always, and I relaxed. “Do you remember the lyrics to “Early Autumn?” she asked. ” I’m having trouble remembering how the bridge section goes, and I’ve had a request for it.”

My mother is a piano player, and she plays professionally, meaning that she is usually paid, unless she’s volunteering at the Senior Center or playing at the Wednesday lunch for the Rotary Club. She knows hundreds of songs, both words and music, and she can play by ear or from sheet music. Her usual style has echoes of old-time stride piano, but she can summon up some classical vibes, or, living in the south, a gospel sound. The joy she feels in playing music is evident in her smile and body language. There’s a steady demand for her talents at celebrations of all kinds, and at assisted living facilities in her town of Tallahassee..She has regular “gigs” 4 or 5 times a week, and drives to them herself. On her next birthday, she’ll be 95.

Vera is tall, slender, and wears clothes beautifully. I’ve never known her to look any way other than neat and elegant. She’s also gifted with a warm, welcoming personality. How did she get this way? It isn’t because she’s had an easy life. She hasn’t. My father died when I was 15 and my brother was 10, leaving her with very little money. She went to work right away using a diploma she’d earned years earlier, working as a physical therapist to support us.

After seven years went by, she re-married. My stepfather preferred that she not work outside the home, so she didn’t. He was a heavy smoker, and after many years of married life with him, he died of emphysema. Music, she will tell you, was her salvation. In her eighties, she began to play professionally, now that she had all the time in the world to practice, without worrying that she was drowning out anyone’s tv show. Word got out that she knew a wide range of songs. She volunteered her talents at various events, and ,when she was hired at rest homes, residents looked forward to their hour of music with her. She’s been grateful for the extra money she earns, particularly in the current economy, but best of all is the knowledge that she makes people happy.
“ Hello Harry! ” she’ll beam at an elderly man of Irish descent being wheeled into the music room. ” Here’s a song for you.” and she’ll launch into “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” or “Danny Boy”. It’s heartwarming to see residents’ feet begin to tap in time with the rhythms and start to sing along, remembering songs from the past. Most of the residents aren’t even aware that she is older than they are.

She rarely has to take a prescription drug and Vera credits her longevity to a healthy diet of fresh fruits and vegetables and moderate amounts of protein for her good health. She likes to make fresh juices in her juicer, and she gets rhapsodic over figs and dates. Her parents she says, gave her a good start. Born to an English seaman with captain’s papers and a Swedish woman who cooked and cleaned and was a nurse-midwife, both of whom loved this country and became American citizens, she grew up in a happy, but modest home. What she got was a lot of love from both her parents, but especially from her father. My mother was the only girl in a rough and tumble household with four brothers – tall muscular fellows who loved sports. She did her best to keep up with them. Athletics was her way of getting out of the house, and out from under the ever-watchful eyes of her mother, if only for a little while. She wasn’t allowed to date.
Growing up in Braintree , and later Quincy, Massachusetts, she made her mark playing basketball, ( her nickname was Flash!) and she won medals at shotput competitions and freestyle swimming events. Massachusetts public schools also gave her an excellent education. Her high school diploma had value, even if she never went to a 4-year college.

Her father brought back a piano for her on one of his sea voyages, when she was a youngster, and she’s blessed him for it ever since. I hardly knew my grandfather, but I, too, thank him for the happy times sitting next to my mother on the piano bench, both of us energetically singing while she played. Tragically, he was killed in WWII when, the merchant marine vessel , the Sumner I. Kimball, which was carrying supplies to the Allies,and on which he served, was torpedoed by a German U-boat in northern waters. He was then only in his 50’s. Years later, when my mother saw an article about the incident, she discovered the name of the German U-boat captain, then found his address in Germany, and began writing to him. They corresponded often over many years and he graciously apologized for his part in the loss of her beloved father.
“It was war”, he said,” and it was my first assignment as a U-boat captain.” He’d been 23 years old. My mother forgave him.

I live in California. She lives in Florida. We talk often on the phone, and I have assured her that whenever she’d like to come out here, with her cat, we’d welcome her to live with us with open arms, but for now, she has her own house, her many friends, her music, and a busy life. I hopefully keep our piano tuned and I try to fly out to see her at least once a year on her May 4th birthday, so close to Mother’s Day. I feel very fortunate to have this strong, talented woman for my mother. She pooh-poohs my suggestion that she’ll easily make it to 100, but I know she will!
Now I must go online and look up the rest of the lyrics to “Early Autumn”!