Mother’s Day and Rochelle Rubin
I’ve been quietly and lightly dreading this day for a while. Quietly, both because I’ve been on holiday—Yanks, that means vacation in, at least, Europe and the British Isles—and because dwelling on the matter hardly honors my “get on with it” mom. And lightly? For the same reasons.
So I got up early today, with lots to do before I return to work after being out of the office for 10 days. Plenty of busy also keeps the mind occupied. (As for jet lag, I saw a friend at Whole Foods an hour ago. “I thought you were in London,” says he. “Back since yesterday afternoon,” I shared. Surprised, was he.)
Without conscious effort, my mom has been on mind lately. She popped up recently, when we walked into an interior space and Leigh asked me, “Would your mom approve?” Taste is personal, for sure, but Leigh asks that question with some frequency, testing whether I think the décor would meet Rochelle Rubin’s exacting standards. (Stayed tuned for the trip blogs, coming soon, and the report on the Bath accommodations.)
Then there was Linda Blackstone, owner of Linda Blackstone Gallery, who I met at the Affordable Art Fair in Hampstead Heath this past Friday. No, I didn’t overindulge—I bought an Eoghan Bridge sculpture called Why, Hello!—because Linda Blackstone brought to mind my mom. But, here was this woman who’s a force in London art who, seemingly, made her own way in the art world. Very much like someone near and dear to me!
Then there was the stretch for art. An RR move, all the way!
Earlier today, my mom came to mind again. I also bought a set of three prints at the art fair. (I will be working night and day for the next long while, after having too much “fun” on Friday afternoon, if you get my drift.) At the framer, reality bit. Three prints. A set. Three mattes, three pieces of glass, and three frames. Odd size, of course. So, do it 3X. (Buying pictures does not involve thinking about framing, for if it did, I’d pass.)
Nothing I was looking at seemed worthy. Too timid. Then I spotted a glossy red frame. As expensive as possible, of course. Too expensive, in fact. But next to it? A flat-ish red, not as fine, but more than fine enough, for less than half the cost. Sold.
Classic RR moves. Unconventional, with a solution for every budget.
I’m leaving for dinner with Irwin in a few minutes. I know this day will be tough for him, for Mother’s Day doesn’t only focus on mom-child relationships. They’re celebratory days, for so long as a mom may be involved in some way or another.
In a mom’s passing I think three “first” days may matter most: Mother’s Day, the birthday, and the anniversary of her leaving. Two of those days are lonely, for birthdays and yahrzeits aren’t shared days. So I take comfort, on this first Mother’s Day without my mom, from the memories and the sharing that goes on. For my siblings, Irwin, my daughter, my niece and nephews, Rochelle’s many friends, and my several friends whose moms have passed since Mother’s Day 2016—I can quickly count 10—and for anyone whose mom is no longer among us, I also hope personal memories and the love which pervades this most wonderful day on the calendar bring them comfort.