Disclaimer:

These are how I remember the stories. Mom told these stories on herself, and laughed as she did. I don’t think she would mind my sharing them.

Origins:

Mom’s father was Norwegian. Mom’s impression, based on whatever she was told about his origins, was that he was from somewhere far north where it was very cold and dark all winter. She didn’t retain the name of the country, only the climate. So when she was a child and people asked what she was, she told them she was Eskimo.

Making things right:

When Mom learned about prejudice and slavery, it gutted her. She was young, and there was a Black handyman who would travel around the smaller towns of South Dakota and fix fences, etc. When Mom was in Groton visiting Grandma Foster, she saw this man and began to follow him around, trying to help with his repairs. My mom was only seven, but she felt she could offer reparations by handing him his tools, bringing him a glass of water, and so on. He had to ask her to go home.

Royalty:

Mom had a great aunt named Christa who was somewhat fabled in the family, as she had accumulated some wealth. My grandparents lived in West Hollywood for several years when Mom was 12-17. Christa came out to visit and my grandparents were going to take her out sightseeing. Christa was extremely worried about the rampant crime in California, so she left her long mink coat and all her diamond rings at their house. Mom–I think she was 13 at the time–put on the coat and all the rings, and spent the day riding the bus around the greater LA area, conversing with strangers using a Russian accent, pretending to be a princess.

Sheet Music:

During this same time, Mom asked her parents for voice lessons. They agreed and found a teacher, who instructed Mom to come to the first lesson with sheet music for the song she wanted to learn. Mom came to the lesson with the music for “Old Man River.”

Mischief:

When Mom was around fifteen or sixteen, she and a friend decided to go into the apartment of a young man they liked and make mischief. Like, I don’t even know what they did. Short sheet his bed? Put flour on the kitchen floor? Mess up his magazines? Nothing too destructive, just the silliness of two giddy teenagers who were getting a little carried away by their own naughtiness. But then they heard him coming in the door! They scrambled and hid themselves in the tub behind the shower curtain, where they stood, stifling laughter. They were discovered, of course, and he was so confused. Mom couldn’t tell this story without laughing herself to tears.

In conclusion:

I don’t know how this all adds up. Mom came from an extremely conservative family and was a young Republican, but at some point in the late sixties, that changed. She loved her time in California; the beach, Catalina Island, her best friend Kathy Wells. My mother loved to laugh, and she never lost her taste for mischief.