Mom's Wish for You

Last Sunday, I woke up; poured myself a cup of coffee; snuggled up on the couch with the newspaper; and immediately thought, "Oh, I need to get ready for bingo."

I don't need to get ready for bingo. My bingo buddy died four years ago today. Very early on a Sunday, by the by. I got the call while I was there on the couch. With my coffee. And the paper. Right before I got ready for our weekly bingo date.

Ah, well. Memories. You never know when they'll pop up. Happily, after four years without Mom, a bingo flash doesn't spark tears. I'm more likely to smile, raise my coffee cup in a silent toast, and go about the day. 

That's not to say I don't miss her, of course. Heck, my grandmother died 46 years ago and I still miss her all the time. But the trite expressions are true: The passage of time does smooth the rough and jagged edges of grief. 

Today, on Mom's yahrzeit, I have a candle burning in her memory. And, I want to share the lesson she taught that is shaping my life as I ease into retirement:

Be willing to be delighted. 

What are you doing today? Resting? Driving home from a family gathering? Shopping? Doodling? Reading? Playing bingo? Whatever is on your list, go into the experience with Lillian's perspective. Be willing to be delighted. Look up. Look for the good. 

God knows it's easy enough to see all the awfulness these days -- so don't take the easy way out. Look for something wonderful and unexpected, even if it's tiny. The perfect sentence in that book you're reading. A bite of food with exactly the right mix of turkey and stuffing. A friendly grin from the stranger at the service station, a silent acknowledgement that you're both freezing while pumping gas. Whatever. 

There are delightful moments all around us, waiting to be seen. Or heard. Or felt. 

Or remembered. 

Lillian Marie Sokoloff, my favorite poet
"B7, Go to Heaven!"
God love you, Mom. 

100% Lillian: One to Grow On

So, by now you know that tomorrow -- April 23, 2021 -- marks the 100th anniversary of Mom's birth. We've been 100% Lillian all week on the blog! Today, Look Up: A Centennial Celebration continues, but we're taking a teeny, tiny detour to celebrate another birthday girl. 

Me.  

It was 1960. I was 5.
I'll let you do the math. 

As you might expect, Mom made every birthday special. More than that -- she made every "month day" special. That's right. On the 22nd of every month, Mom happily greeted me with an enthusiastic Happy Month Day! the minute I got out of bed. 

Growing up with a mom who makes you feel like a rock star for existing is absolutely as lovely as you might think.*

But, I digress. Let's get back to birthdays. 

On one birthday long ago, Mom saved me from a candle disaster. I don't remember which birthday it was, but I was young and had long hair. In my typical near-sighted, asthmatic way, I leaned over really close to blow out the candles -- and my hair went into the flames. There was a collective gasp -- and there was Mom. At my side in a split second, pulling me and my ponytail back to safety. 

Mom was always there to protect me. 

I'm not sure if it was that near miss, or the fact that we reached the age where candles overwhelmed the cake, but at some point Mom created a new tradition. Rather than a candle for every year, she put three candles on a birthday cake: 

• One for all the years past
• One for this year
• And one to grow on!

Today, I'm as I blow out my three candles (very, very carefully), I'm going to do exactly what Mom would want me to do. I'm going to make a secret wish and enjoy a day that's 100% Janet. 

But tomorrow? That's the day we've all been waiting for: Our centennial birthday girl has a surprise just for you. Tune in tomorrow to get your gift!

*I hear those wheels turning. You're wondering how you could turn an ordinary day into something special for someone special. Do it! Make Lillian proud. 

100% Lillian: Harry has a Family

Look Up: The Centennial Celebration continues! This Friday -- April 23, 2021 -- marks the 100th anniversary of the day Lillian (Eisen) Sokoloff was born. It's a day to remember, and what better way to celebrate than with a few Mom stories?

Well, there is one better way: We'll wrap things up on Friday with a gift from Mom to you! Stay tuned for that. 

But first, today's story ... 

When Mom lived at Village Shalom, I took her to most doctor's appointments. Once, when the girls were young and I was overwhelmed by work and life demands, I reminded Mom that I wasn't the only child she had in town. Couldn't she ask Harry to take her? Just once? And she said ... 

"Oh, Janet. Harry is working and he has a family." 

To this day, my brother thinks this is one of the funniest things he's ever heard in his life. I am less amused. 

But you're laughing, aren't you? Well, fine. You're right. It is funny. And when I think about Mom, moments like these are what I remember. The moments that were classic Mom, whether she was making me crazy or making me laugh. I miss her daily. 

And, just for the record, my family --  yep, I really do have one -- misses her too. (Are you listening, Mom? Are you laughing? Ah, you are. All good.)

Mom and her favorite son. 

P.S. Do I really think Mom is listening to me? I do believe in souls, and living on in some manner. And I was hugely comforted as we approached this landmark week by my dear friend, Rabbi Vered Harris,  who told me, "Your mom was and is so proud of you."

Doesn't the present tense of that make you happy?

P.P.S. Vered was helping me through an unexpected whiplash of grief. If you had asked me two weeks ago if I was through crying over Mom's loss, I would have said, "Yes. My active grief was done long ago." But then, something out of the blue reminded me of Mom, and there's my birthday, and her birthday, and Mother's Day on the way, and ... WHAM. Waterworks. 

P.P.P.S. Mom first saw Vered years and years ago, when the synagogue I attended saw the power and potential in this young rabbi. Mom -- who periodically mused about the propriety of referring to God as "He" when God could be a "She" --  was very impressed with "the girl rabbi" and loved the idea that the rabbinate was no longer an all-boys club. Trust me, Mom is dazzled by Vered today. 

 

  

100% Lillian: Meet Cute

Welcome back to our week-long party, Look Up: A Centennial Celebration! This Friday -- April 23, 2021 -- marks 100 years since the birth of Lillian Sokoloff, so we are 100% Lillian this week! To wrap things up, Mom even has a gift for you on Friday. (What could it be? Look forward to a nice surprise!)

Yesterday, I promised to tell you how Mom and Dad met. Their "meet cute" story illustrates Mom's smarts and creativity. Not to mention her good taste in men. 

Cutie pies. 

Back in the early 1950s, Mom was part of a social sorority -- as I remember, she was the "den mother" of the pack, and most of the girls were a bit younger than she was.  One weekend, the group had a special date night event, a picnic at Swope Park in Kansas City. 

Mom showed up with a date, of course. But, as the group sat around the campfire, she noticed a good-looking man with one of the other girls. She didn't know who he was, but she was determined to find out. How could she get to know him without being obvious? She took the first step, announcing, "Girls, I think it would be a good idea if we go around the campfire, and all introduce our dates."

Everything moved pretty quickly after that introduction. Handsome Allen was equally captivated by beautiful Lillian. After a quick chat at the picnic, they agreed to leave with their respective dates early. Allen dropped his date off and drove over to Lillian's house. It was, for both of them, the second date of the evening, but the first night of their love story. 

P.S. Dad was driving a sports car that night. Mom insists* she saw Dad before she saw the car. 

When you see what you want, dear heart, go for it. 

* I automatically wrote this in present tense. I'm good with that, as I'll explain tomorrow. Party on!

100% Lillian: A Centennial Celebration

Happy Monday and welcome to a very special week. This Friday -- April 23, 2021 -- marks 100 years since Lillian Marie Eisen (briefly Salomon*, then Sokoloff) was born. 

Clearly, we can't let an event of this magnitude slide by without notice! We're going to celebrate in style, with new Mom stories every day this week. We'll wrap up the 100% Lillian celebration with a gift from Mom to you on Friday, so stay tuned for that!

But now, our first story. Random acts of kindness are lovely, but Mom believed in planning ahead. 

The home Harry and Eva and I grew up in was a small three-bedroom, one-bathroom ranch. Like most folks in the 1960s, we had one phone, centrally located in the hallway dividing the living room from the bedrooms. 

Flashback for the young 'uns:
The phone was on a telephone table, much like this. 

Now, Mom loved to talk on the phone, but she had some friends who could talk for hours. And hours. While Mom didn't have the patience for that, she never wanted to be rude and cut them off to hang up. So, she developed a plan: When she wanted to escape the conversation, she would hit the wall by the telephone table three times. If Harry or Eva or I heard that triple knock, it was our job to run to the hallway and loudly proclaim, "Mom! I need you! I need you now! Can you please get off the phone?"

With that excuse, Mom could end the call without hurting anyone's feelings. 

Random kindness? Awesomesauce. Planned kindness? That's 100% Lillian. And we can all be a bit Lillian!

P.S. Look Up: Your Unexpected Guide to Good isn't all about Mom, but it certainly was inspired by her. I know, from the emails and texts and reviews, that the book has been a positive energy source for many of you during the past year, and that makes my heart happy. Is there someone you know who could use it? Buying a copy of Look Up -- or any encouraging guide -- for someone else is a lovely bit of planned kindness. 

* Yep. Mom was married to a dashing young man named Bob Salomon during World War II. After this fairly brief marriage ended, she met my Dad. I'll tell you that story tomorrow ...