Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Ron Gold

Mothers Day Submissions Continued

May 20, 2006

MOM

By Ron Gold

She called me either “Ronnie” or “My Ronnie”, depending whether she was taking to me or about me.  (If she loved you, Ann Gold wanted to possess you.)

I called her “Mom”.  She was my best friend, my lifelong protector and  my favorite lullaby singer. I knew her from her vibrant late twenties (when we would slide on sidewalk ice together) to her late eighties, when she spent her final years confined to a two-wheel walker.

Mom and other new mothers lived in fear the year of my birth. Kidnappers had murdered Anne and Charles Lindbergh’s baby son. It was inescapable front-page news.  Mom was scared kidnappers would come and kill “my Ronnie”.

Mom was also “her Murray’s” lifelong loving partner.  She labored with him in a small candy store in Connecticut and, later, in a very successful upscale New Jersey “deli”, where she was an amazing salesgirl and a local celebrity.  She’d freely sample the store’s delicacies to satisfied customers who happily brought them home.

“Isn’t that delicious?” she’d ask.  When the customer agreed, she’d package a substantial quantity and add it to his order.  She was most successful on Sunday mornings, when men shopped while their wives slept.  She wowed them with charm, “con” and enterprise.  And her customers knew they’d been charmed and “conned”.  But she and the food were so good that they kept coming back for more—especially on Sunday mornings.

I remember asking a neighbor, “Why do you wait in line so long?”  He answered, “it’s worth it for that smile and for that food.  Besides, it’s the only time I get to talk with some good old friends.”

When Mom and Dad retired to Florida, the store’s food remained top quality but the service fell off.  Creative salesmanship declined into common retail order taking.  And a trip to the deli became just another shopping trip instead of a happy social event and lessons in friendly persuasion.

Whether it was in our tiny apartment above the candy store, their delightful homes in New Jersey or their condominiums in Florida, Mom

and Dad loved to entertain.  She set her table with quality linens, fine china, silver and glassware.  And good home cooking.  And delightful conversation.

If I asked if I could bring four college friends home for Sunday dinner, she’d always say: “Sure.  I’ll just add more water to the soup. But don’t come before the Sunday morning rush is over.”

Mom was born in Port Chester, NY, but moved up the line to Stamford, Connecticut with her parents, brother and two sisters.  Growing up in a Jewish household in an Italian neighborhood, mom spoke three languages: English, Yiddish ad Italian.  She used the latter two when she didn’t want my brother Richy and me to understand what she was saying.

Mom quit school after the eighth grade.  Her one lifelong insecurity was her lack of formal education. But she and Dad put Richy and me through college.

I remember a softball plaque she helped my Grade School win.  It was the school’s only championship.  One day, while I was visiting her in Florida, she was watching an Atlanta Braves baseball game on TV.

“I didn’t know you watched baseball,” I said

“You know I used to play ball.  I watch it until the bases are loaded.

Then I get too nervous and I turn it off.”

Ann and Murray enjoyed their retirement years.  Dad died about a week before his 91^st birthday.  Mom, who considered herself a fatalist, always

told me “when your time is up, it’s up.”  But she immediately followed that with a warning: “But don’t cross against the traffic light.”

Mom was a positive thinker, my pal and a friend to all—especially people down on their luck.  When a Canadian friend died unexpectedly, she contacted his family and they became our houseguests during the wake and funeral.  When our handy man died, he was buried in one of dad’s suits.  When a neighborhood girl named Frances broke a hip while escaping a house fire, Mom took her in, nursed her and played “second mother” to her. 

Years later, Mom joyously made Frances’ bridal shower.

My dad had a favorite story about our best pal.  “It was a cold, snowy day and your Mom saw a lady and her young son walking up to the hospital.  They did not wear winter clothes or galoshes.  So she ran out and called them both into the warm store.  She spoke to the immigrant lady in West Side Italian, ran up to our apartment and brought down one of your coats and a pair of your shoes for the boy.  And one of her warm winter coats and oxfords for the woman.  Then she happily sent them on their way.”

In her last years, Mom suffered from neuralgia and spinal stenosis.  She

was living in pain in an assisted living facility.  She was told she would have to surrender her comfortable apartment and transfer to a nursing home when she was no longer ambulatory.  The threat became her motivation.  She remained ambulatory until a heart attack brought her back with “her Murray”.

I remember seeing her body in the funeral home.  I cried, realizing my profound loss.  As I studied her face in repose, I saw the slight smile, so

much less broad than her living smile.  I saw her arms, folded, not

dishing out food or hugging a loved one.  I saw her hair, less neat or perfect than in life.  I saw the unparsed lips, not calling a store line number or laughing or singing me a lullaby.

Then I remembered her favorite lullaby.  It was a hope-filled jazz tune she sang at half speed:

“Go to sleep, my baby.  Somewhere there may be

A land that’s free for you and me and a Russian lullaby.”

Sleep peacefully, Mom.  You are always in my heart. 

Ron Gold

outthinkresumes@aol.com

About Me:
Ron Gold has been writing professionally for some 50 years--in public relations,
advertising and motivation agencies. He now writes inspirational and humorous stories for the Internet. He also creates professional resumes from a recruiter's viewpoint, ethical wills and personal love stories. He also edits college essays students submit
to undergraduate and graduate schools. He was graduated from the He was graduated from the University of Bridgeport and served as a Public Information Specialist in the U.S. Army. He resides in West Orange, NJ