For Nova
This post I’ve been struggling with starting to write, it’s going to be even more sentimental than most here, so anyone who’s not in the mood should skip ahead or back.
This one’s for my mom, Nova Hilliard Jacobson. Nova was born April 2, 1931, the fourth of five daughters, on a farm near Tulsa, Oklahoma. She died October 30, 1999 at her home in Morristown, New Jersey. Those are the bare facts. To fill in some: She put herself through the Kahler School of Nursing, (affiliated with the Mayo Clinic) in Rochester, MN. She met my Dad in the early fifties while doing her externship at the University of Chicago, where he was in medical school. After my Dad left med school and started his career in pharmaceutical advertising copywriting, my mom worked as a nurse while pregnant with me. I came along in 1955, then over the next eleven years, my sisters Karen & Lisa and brother, Eli. In between we moved from Chicago to Bayside, Queens to East Northport, Long Island, where I did most of my growing up. Nova did private duty nursing over the years to supplement my Dad’s income and to help pay for various children’s tuition. In 1972 we moved to Mountain Lakes, in north Jersey, and then in 1992 my folks sold the big house and bought the townhouse in Morristown, where she died seven years later from respiratory illnesses, no doubt smoking related. Again more bare facts.
Hard facts: Mom struggled all her life with depression and anger. Her anger could be a fearsome thing to behold, she forgot and forgave nothing. She could strip the skin off you with her mouth at twenty paces. A talent that some of my friends and loved ones know all too well, I learned. She also had the guilt thing down as well as any mom: when I broke up with my fiancée in 1991, four months before our marriage was scheduled, she told me at Thanksgiving dinner that year: “You know, your breaking up with Diane is why I started smoking again.” When she quit for the last time, she made a point of quitting on my birthday. She had a nervous breakdown in 1966 after my brother was born and was hospitalized. In 1988, she had another nervous breakdown, after that a lot of her behavior and personality was managed by drugs, she was never really the same person, a lot of the fire had gone out of her. In the last part of her life, she channeled a lot of that karma in Alcoholics Anonymous.
Nova had a tremendous capacity for love and generosity and truly encouraged her children’s ambitions and sacrificed for them, monetarily and with her time. She welcomed our friends into our house and made some of them, the special ones, her own. My mom taught me how to cook. She wasn’t an accomplished gourmet chef, just a damned good cook, she knew how to handle a cast iron skillet, her breakfasts were top-notch. She could turn out a mean cake or pie. Some my happiest memories of her are working through a recipe neither of us had tried before. I get my social conscience from my Mom, she always tolerated, if not encouraged my somewhat left of center views. Nova also fought like a wildcat for her own, if she thought someone had wronged one of us, whether friend, family, teacher, whomever, that persons was in for the fight of their life. It’s a blessing or curse I’ve also inherited from her.
So Candace and I are due in court in ten hours to submit our petition to adopt Otis. CD mentioned to me week before last that it’s not a bad thing if the man cries in court. “No problem,” I said, “I’ve got that one covered.” Because tomorrow, Nova, you’ll be there with me when I tell the judge, quite truthfully: “Your honor, it truly grieves me that my mother will never get to know this boy that we’ve come to love so much in such a short time, and he will never know her. Because I know she would love him as much as we do and he would feel that love.”
This has been tough to write, I don’t know that I’ve really done Nova justice here, but I needed to write this. About an hour and a half ago, in the middle of writing this, CD I both got hit by an allergic reaction to something, probably a bug bite as best we can figure. I popped two benadryl and CD rubbed us both down with cortisone cream, but my reaction was much worse than hers, naturally. Anyway after taking a cold shower, I finally felt human enough to finish this. As CD has mentioned earlier, my soundtrack for this trip, instead of the usual Springsteen and Costello mix, has been the songs of Loudon Wainwright III, a folksinger who writes a lot about family, husbands, wives, sons daughters, brothers, sisters, see Bein’ A Dad. Any I’m signing off with one from Loudo about his Mom. This one’s for you Nova -- even though you’d didn’t really love your white wine, it was Heineken and Gin & Tonics -- and for my mother in law, who does love her white wine and will be every bit as great a grandmother as I know you would have been, Nova. Love you and miss you.
White Winos
By Loudon Wainwright III
Mother liked her white wine
When she was alive
She was desperate to live
Bur her limit was five
Carefully I’d kiss her
And send her off to bed
We always stuck with white wine
We stayed away from red
Always stick with white wine
Stay away from…
Mother liked her white wine
She’d have a glass or two
Almost every single night
After her day was through
Sancerre, Chardonnay,
Chablis, Pinot Grigio,
Just to take the edge off,
Just to get the glow
You've got to take the edge off
If you wanna get the...
Mother liked her white wine
She'd have a glass or three
And we'd sit out on the screen porch
White winos, mom and me
We'd talk about her childhood
Recap my career
When we got to my father
That was when I'd switch to beer
We got to the old man
And I'd always switch to….
Mother liked her white wine
She’d have a glass or four
Each empty bottle a dead soldier
The marriage was the war
When we blurred the edges
When we drank a lot
That’s when I got nervous
When the glow got hot
I always get nervous
When the glow gets….
I still like my white wine
And I’ll have a glass or two
And when I’m down
I’ll drink some whisky
It’s something I shouldn’t do
And every now and then
I’ll take a drop of red
When I’m with woman
That I want to take to bed
When I’m with woman
That I want to take to ….
Mother liked her white wine
When she was alive
She was desperate to live
Bur her limit was five
Carefully I’d kiss her
And send her off to bed
Thank God we stuck to white wine
And we stayed away from ….
Mother liked her white wine
This one’s for my mom, Nova Hilliard Jacobson. Nova was born April 2, 1931, the fourth of five daughters, on a farm near Tulsa, Oklahoma. She died October 30, 1999 at her home in Morristown, New Jersey. Those are the bare facts. To fill in some: She put herself through the Kahler School of Nursing, (affiliated with the Mayo Clinic) in Rochester, MN. She met my Dad in the early fifties while doing her externship at the University of Chicago, where he was in medical school. After my Dad left med school and started his career in pharmaceutical advertising copywriting, my mom worked as a nurse while pregnant with me. I came along in 1955, then over the next eleven years, my sisters Karen & Lisa and brother, Eli. In between we moved from Chicago to Bayside, Queens to East Northport, Long Island, where I did most of my growing up. Nova did private duty nursing over the years to supplement my Dad’s income and to help pay for various children’s tuition. In 1972 we moved to Mountain Lakes, in north Jersey, and then in 1992 my folks sold the big house and bought the townhouse in Morristown, where she died seven years later from respiratory illnesses, no doubt smoking related. Again more bare facts.
Hard facts: Mom struggled all her life with depression and anger. Her anger could be a fearsome thing to behold, she forgot and forgave nothing. She could strip the skin off you with her mouth at twenty paces. A talent that some of my friends and loved ones know all too well, I learned. She also had the guilt thing down as well as any mom: when I broke up with my fiancée in 1991, four months before our marriage was scheduled, she told me at Thanksgiving dinner that year: “You know, your breaking up with Diane is why I started smoking again.” When she quit for the last time, she made a point of quitting on my birthday. She had a nervous breakdown in 1966 after my brother was born and was hospitalized. In 1988, she had another nervous breakdown, after that a lot of her behavior and personality was managed by drugs, she was never really the same person, a lot of the fire had gone out of her. In the last part of her life, she channeled a lot of that karma in Alcoholics Anonymous.
Nova had a tremendous capacity for love and generosity and truly encouraged her children’s ambitions and sacrificed for them, monetarily and with her time. She welcomed our friends into our house and made some of them, the special ones, her own. My mom taught me how to cook. She wasn’t an accomplished gourmet chef, just a damned good cook, she knew how to handle a cast iron skillet, her breakfasts were top-notch. She could turn out a mean cake or pie. Some my happiest memories of her are working through a recipe neither of us had tried before. I get my social conscience from my Mom, she always tolerated, if not encouraged my somewhat left of center views. Nova also fought like a wildcat for her own, if she thought someone had wronged one of us, whether friend, family, teacher, whomever, that persons was in for the fight of their life. It’s a blessing or curse I’ve also inherited from her.
So Candace and I are due in court in ten hours to submit our petition to adopt Otis. CD mentioned to me week before last that it’s not a bad thing if the man cries in court. “No problem,” I said, “I’ve got that one covered.” Because tomorrow, Nova, you’ll be there with me when I tell the judge, quite truthfully: “Your honor, it truly grieves me that my mother will never get to know this boy that we’ve come to love so much in such a short time, and he will never know her. Because I know she would love him as much as we do and he would feel that love.”
This has been tough to write, I don’t know that I’ve really done Nova justice here, but I needed to write this. About an hour and a half ago, in the middle of writing this, CD I both got hit by an allergic reaction to something, probably a bug bite as best we can figure. I popped two benadryl and CD rubbed us both down with cortisone cream, but my reaction was much worse than hers, naturally. Anyway after taking a cold shower, I finally felt human enough to finish this. As CD has mentioned earlier, my soundtrack for this trip, instead of the usual Springsteen and Costello mix, has been the songs of Loudon Wainwright III, a folksinger who writes a lot about family, husbands, wives, sons daughters, brothers, sisters, see Bein’ A Dad. Any I’m signing off with one from Loudo about his Mom. This one’s for you Nova -- even though you’d didn’t really love your white wine, it was Heineken and Gin & Tonics -- and for my mother in law, who does love her white wine and will be every bit as great a grandmother as I know you would have been, Nova. Love you and miss you.
White Winos
By Loudon Wainwright III
Mother liked her white wine
When she was alive
She was desperate to live
Bur her limit was five
Carefully I’d kiss her
And send her off to bed
We always stuck with white wine
We stayed away from red
Always stick with white wine
Stay away from…
Mother liked her white wine
She’d have a glass or two
Almost every single night
After her day was through
Sancerre, Chardonnay,
Chablis, Pinot Grigio,
Just to take the edge off,
Just to get the glow
You've got to take the edge off
If you wanna get the...
Mother liked her white wine
She'd have a glass or three
And we'd sit out on the screen porch
White winos, mom and me
We'd talk about her childhood
Recap my career
When we got to my father
That was when I'd switch to beer
We got to the old man
And I'd always switch to….
Mother liked her white wine
She’d have a glass or four
Each empty bottle a dead soldier
The marriage was the war
When we blurred the edges
When we drank a lot
That’s when I got nervous
When the glow got hot
I always get nervous
When the glow gets….
I still like my white wine
And I’ll have a glass or two
And when I’m down
I’ll drink some whisky
It’s something I shouldn’t do
And every now and then
I’ll take a drop of red
When I’m with woman
That I want to take to bed
When I’m with woman
That I want to take to ….
Mother liked her white wine
When she was alive
She was desperate to live
Bur her limit was five
Carefully I’d kiss her
And send her off to bed
Thank God we stuck to white wine
And we stayed away from ….
Mother liked her white wine
posted by Candace and David at 7/10/2005 03:31:00 PM
2 Comments:
Hi Candace and David,
It's 11PM here, so I figure it's about 9AM for you guys. Either you are already in court, or will soon be
on your way there.
As I close my day, then, I'm sending out very good & hopeful thoughts for the 3 of you.
Reply with your good news soon!!
David...
Lovely stuff. Nova raised a son she can be proud of. I know well that a powerful woman can be the best and worst of mothers. I spent the first 18 years of my life actively avoiding my mom's wrath (with varying degrees of success), and the following three courting it (a roaring success). Somewhere in those three years, I managed to realize that she wasn't (always) the monster -- or moron -- I'd let myself believe she was. Now, as a wicked stepmother, I often ask myself, "What would Jackie do?" I don't always do it, but then again, sometimes, neither should she have.
You obviously appreciate the gifts your mother gave you. Having fun giving them to Otis.
With all love to you and Candace,
Karin
And incidentally, here are a few of my mom's less oppressive (for the most part) rules:
A house should be clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy.
"Because I said so" is so a legitimate reason.
Waffles for dinner taste almost as good as hot dogs for breakfast.
Post a Comment
<< Home