It would be fair to say that those of us fortunate to have our mothers still in our lives, are infinitely blessed. Others, perhaps not so fortunate, live with memories. On reflecting upon my vocation of creating interiors and gardens, full credit must be given to my mother for fostering a deep appreciation for the aesthetic, even if at times during my teenage years it all seemed like a tiresome burden. While other kids seemed to have the entire length of summer vacations for innumerable games of soccer or bike-rides that stretched endlessly, my all too-brief break from the monotony of high-school invariably involved a summer-redux of our home in which walls were dusted and cleaned in preparation for painting (perhaps done every 2nd year to coincide with some ancient ritual I've yet to discover). All the furniture had to be polished, window-treatments carefully washed and repaired, mattresses aired, and rugs beaten with brooms and special metal contraptions almost medieval in appearance. Paint colors seemed to follow a particular order: boys' bedrooms in blue or green, girls' bedroom in pink or lavender, kitchen in sunny yellow, living room in shades of white or bisque, and I can't seem to remember the color of the dining room, except it was my favorite room for reading cause it seemed away from the general flow of activity or my parents' watchful eyes, and thus I got the chance to look through forbidden material intended for older siblings. At the time, all the pages in the home-magazines and the thick catalogues from Sears, Roebuck or JC Penney's showed nuclear families happily sitting on sectionals in the den playing board games or watching TV with big bowls of popcorn; bathrooms always seemed sparkling and luxurious with plush towels and big jars of scented soap; lawns were lush, green, and bordered by beds of abundant flowing shrubs. In looking back now at past issues of the sale catalogues and adverts, if everything seems a little hokey or contrived or idealistic, I'll chalk it up to experience or little patience with 'nostalgia.' But the real-life lessons of cleanliness and person responsibility forever remain relevant and invaluable, so thanks to all the mothers (as well as fathers) of the world for being good parents and insisting that chores be done, rules be obeyed, and limits be respected.
Hope everyone had a great day, and remembered to fix Mom or Grandma's favorite breakfast in bed.