Of Moms And Can Openers
Mother's Day was a crowded brunch in a resteaurant called She She on a hot day in Lincoln Square. Genevra was worried about her show. They don't have an ending. They open Thursday. This is theater.
We were the only people in the restaurant, it seemed, who had no mothers with them. You saw many mother-daughter duos, and whole families taking up two and three tables pushed together, having multi-generational mom fests.
Genevra and I have mom's out of state, families who live far away. We do celebrations by phone mostly. We send cards. Genevra is the queen of cards. She always knows when to send them, fires all of them off on time, tells me when I should send cards, gives me cards, sends me e-cards sometimes just to tell me that she loves me.
I am a lousy card man. I have a hard time letting anyone write things for me, let alone sentiments and humor. I have a natural aversion to intimacy most of the time and also feel somewhat possessive of my funny. So why would I let anyone do either of those things for me? And then of course there's the whole corporate thing. Do you know why you celebrate Valentines Day or even Mother's Day? Ask Hallmark.
But of course I sent my mother a card. And I called my mother on Mother's Day and wished her a happy one and told her that I loved her. Because I do. And I miss her a lot.
In the restaurant I had one of those moments that I couldn't explain at the time. I used to have these moments when I found myself in strange suburban neighborhoods--anywhere in the country. I would stop and think to myself "that backyard is as familiar to some family as my backyard is to mine. This neighborhood is somebody's home. This space, these houses and this street are so familiar to these people, they almost don't see them anymore." And I thought that way about the families around us. Whole families, whole generations there, their homes belonging to the midwest, their houses, their nieghborhoods so different from mine. Beyond that, I can't explain the sensation, and if hardly anyone out there identifies with me, I may have to blame my epilepsy again.
The first time I experienced this sensation was with my late brother Jon, when we were kids. He pointed to our electric, mounted can opener that was underneath a counter in the kitchen and he said "look at this. Look at this can opener. We're so used to it that we don't even notice it. Look at it like you're looking at it for the first time. It's weird. It's just hanging out here."
He wasn't on anything. I think we were just kids and so I understood and could also do as he asked. I simply sat back and took in our kitchen cabinet for the first time. And he was right. That can opener looked bizarre. Everything did. After all, we are, all of us, total strangers to most everyone in the world. We're the electric can opener, the midwestern mom at the table next to the theatre couple. Why shouldn't we be able to take a step back and see the details of our lives objectively?
And I suppose, despite its putrid sentimentality, the gawdy words or obvious humor printed on those damn cards and the fact that we are celbrating it mostly to line the pockets of ingenious corporations, Mother's Day isn't such a bad thing. It's a good day to take a step back and appreciate your mother from a different perspective, to for one day stop treating her like the overlooked beauty of the neighborhood you live in. And I'm sure that sounded corny to most of you. But I think that's simply mother's day in it's natural form--when you take a step back and see it for what it really is. Corny. But meaningful.
I guess it's like an expensive brunch with some good friends. The food may be over-priced, your fiance may have too much pepper in her macaroni and cheese, someone's got to pay for it and it makes someone else richer, but it's a nice excuse to sit and talk with your friends. Sitting and talking is good, and so is appreciating any human being, for any reason.
Have a Happy Monday.
Please send your Happy Monday greeting cards here: Andy Bayiates, c/o The Neo-Futurarium, 5153 N. Ashland Ave., Chicago, IL 60640
And please help turn Hallmark on to the idea of Happy Monday cards at www.hallmark.com.
They'll make a friggin fortune!
Mother's Day was a crowded brunch in a resteaurant called She She on a hot day in Lincoln Square. Genevra was worried about her show. They don't have an ending. They open Thursday. This is theater.
We were the only people in the restaurant, it seemed, who had no mothers with them. You saw many mother-daughter duos, and whole families taking up two and three tables pushed together, having multi-generational mom fests.
Genevra and I have mom's out of state, families who live far away. We do celebrations by phone mostly. We send cards. Genevra is the queen of cards. She always knows when to send them, fires all of them off on time, tells me when I should send cards, gives me cards, sends me e-cards sometimes just to tell me that she loves me.
I am a lousy card man. I have a hard time letting anyone write things for me, let alone sentiments and humor. I have a natural aversion to intimacy most of the time and also feel somewhat possessive of my funny. So why would I let anyone do either of those things for me? And then of course there's the whole corporate thing. Do you know why you celebrate Valentines Day or even Mother's Day? Ask Hallmark.
But of course I sent my mother a card. And I called my mother on Mother's Day and wished her a happy one and told her that I loved her. Because I do. And I miss her a lot.
In the restaurant I had one of those moments that I couldn't explain at the time. I used to have these moments when I found myself in strange suburban neighborhoods--anywhere in the country. I would stop and think to myself "that backyard is as familiar to some family as my backyard is to mine. This neighborhood is somebody's home. This space, these houses and this street are so familiar to these people, they almost don't see them anymore." And I thought that way about the families around us. Whole families, whole generations there, their homes belonging to the midwest, their houses, their nieghborhoods so different from mine. Beyond that, I can't explain the sensation, and if hardly anyone out there identifies with me, I may have to blame my epilepsy again.
The first time I experienced this sensation was with my late brother Jon, when we were kids. He pointed to our electric, mounted can opener that was underneath a counter in the kitchen and he said "look at this. Look at this can opener. We're so used to it that we don't even notice it. Look at it like you're looking at it for the first time. It's weird. It's just hanging out here."
He wasn't on anything. I think we were just kids and so I understood and could also do as he asked. I simply sat back and took in our kitchen cabinet for the first time. And he was right. That can opener looked bizarre. Everything did. After all, we are, all of us, total strangers to most everyone in the world. We're the electric can opener, the midwestern mom at the table next to the theatre couple. Why shouldn't we be able to take a step back and see the details of our lives objectively?
And I suppose, despite its putrid sentimentality, the gawdy words or obvious humor printed on those damn cards and the fact that we are celbrating it mostly to line the pockets of ingenious corporations, Mother's Day isn't such a bad thing. It's a good day to take a step back and appreciate your mother from a different perspective, to for one day stop treating her like the overlooked beauty of the neighborhood you live in. And I'm sure that sounded corny to most of you. But I think that's simply mother's day in it's natural form--when you take a step back and see it for what it really is. Corny. But meaningful.
I guess it's like an expensive brunch with some good friends. The food may be over-priced, your fiance may have too much pepper in her macaroni and cheese, someone's got to pay for it and it makes someone else richer, but it's a nice excuse to sit and talk with your friends. Sitting and talking is good, and so is appreciating any human being, for any reason.
Have a Happy Monday.
Please send your Happy Monday greeting cards here: Andy Bayiates, c/o The Neo-Futurarium, 5153 N. Ashland Ave., Chicago, IL 60640
And please help turn Hallmark on to the idea of Happy Monday cards at www.hallmark.com.
They'll make a friggin fortune!
2 Comments:
At 4:17 PM ,
krystyn said...
I do this too, all the time.
In some ways it's made me self-conscious as a person, because I am constantly checking out my world, trying to surprise myself into seeing it 'new,' but it's something that never bores me, and gives me a lot of writing fodder, incidentally.
At 4:19 PM ,
krystyn said...
Also, I am doing my part for Mondays by singing special songs about them. I have also taken requests for Tuesdays, and other special events in that vein. No cards are harmed in the making of these songs, in case you were wondering.
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