James the Sock Monkey.

 

Before I was born, I spent ten months listening to my mom play the piano.  Hearing her laugh every day, often.  Hearing that she would regularly weep with other people whose sorrow would be overwhelming.  Maybe I started to understand through her in those days how sorrow is a pervasive part of life, but that our sadness can live alongside of happiness.  I heard her tell stories, and talk on the phone long-distance to her family who lived far away. I definitely learned that loving family was a priority. 

I felt bursts of energy that empowered her to do the dishes, make lists of future projects, drive the Buick to the nearby metropolis of Lansing to pick up books, buy a bolt of fabric, browse the music store.  I heard her give piano lessons and read books out loud that were for my yet-to-emerge ears.  I felt those bursts of energy as we re-arranged the furniture in every room again.  And again.  We hung wallpaper.  We added new pictures to the wall.

I heard her have hundreds of conversations with my dad.  They loved each other deeply and never argued in a petty way, but they also disagree(d) about many things, and she taught me about how a good conversation absolutely needed to include a strong sense of feeling to balance the also-good, but insufficient value of reasoning, knowledge and evidence.  I literally felt in my body the necessity of feeling and emotion  in decision making

In those moments of empathy, shared laughter, music, building relationship, singing, playing, advocating, listening, reading, renovating, teaching, performing -- I didn't know about a secret project she was involved in. 

If you look carefully at this photograph of she and I on the steps of the family cabin, you may or may not notice that Jame the Sock Monkey is getting a shoulder ride behind my head, next to my fisherman's cap.  I'm holding his hands and feet so his ride is safe, just as she is holding my hand as I descend the (then-giant) steps.

James-the-sock- monkey was one of my best friends.  Once I was in bed every night James and his friend my stuffed scotch terrier would have conversations, go on adventures and sometimes perform song and dance numbers. 

James was, of course, an extension of the moral education that my mother had already thoroughly begun before I arrived one month late into the world.

Mom, you taught me by living with such energy, compassion, imagination, craft, creativity and conversation -- in such a consistent & singular way for the past 51 years that even thought I don't remember the 10 months I just described above? 

Thank you for James the Sock Monkey and all the truths  woven into his (my) being.

Happy Mother's Day

James is still hanging around.