Anyone who knew my mother knows that she would travel on the bus from Chatham, New Jersey to Newark everyday to her job as the payroll person at Woolworth's. The traits I wish I had inherited from her were her work ethic, her stylishness (Newark was the capitol of fashion for us - think Orbachs, Kleins and Lord and Taylor), her devotion to her parents and siblings and her ability to add long columns of numbers without using a calculator or her fingers.
Instead, I seem to have inherited the transporting of kielbasi trait. She would visit the section of Newark that sold the best kielbasi and bread (I later found out it was Jewish Rye bread) to bring home to the suburbs for the entire family. When she visited our Aunt Caro in Arizona, the plane would be doused with the smell of the precious sausage that she carried in a shopping bag on board.
When we moved to Chicago, she'd bring the stash to our house, along with the best horseradish available. I can imagine the snarky remarks of the American Airlines stewardesses ( no flight attendant PC titles back then.)
Today I traveled by CTA to our tax guy (if you need a good one, call me)and made it there in record time on the Blue Line and the #80 bus. Thinking that Easter is coming up and I had time to spare, I took the #54 south to Belmont and the #77 west to Lockwood and visited my favorite polshki place, Gene's Sausage. I was restrained by the fact that I didn't have a car trunk to fill, but managed Kielbasi, farmers cheese, cold cuts, pork chops, Kosciusko mustard,a loaf of caraway rye bread, a gigantic pickle, a slice of headcheese for Joe, and two boxes of sinful cookies. Armed with my shopping bags I took the #77 back to the Blue Line and at Washington emerged in Daley Plaza for the #157 which stops in front of my building. On all these trips, I looked around as though, I too, was wondering about the smells, as I looked up from my book. Surely, I didn't look like the kielbasi culprit to my fellow travelers.
When I got home and thought about it - this is my third trip to Gene's on the CTA since we got rid of our car- and includes the trip last November when I loaded up on the mother lode of kielbasi for Aunt Caro and her family in Arizona (vacuum packed to avoid flight attendant remarks) I came to the realization that what the joke cards say about growing old are true.
I HAVE BECOME MY MOTHER.
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1) Who's work ethic did you inherit then?
ReplyDelete2) You have always been style trend leader; madras shorts before they were the preppy chic, forcing us into Izod, knee high leather black boots in the snow, cashmere camel overcoat, cable knot sweaters.
3) I hope my children treat me half as well as you did your mom.
4) I also hope my sisters and I have weekends away like you and your sisters.
I suspect, you have become your mother even more than you are willing to admit.
Who better to become?
ReplyDeleteThe transport of kielbasa dredged up a submerged memory. My husband's father retired to Oklahoma....and when we visited there....or he came up here....there was always a transport of these heartily aromatic delicacies. There'd be no drug trade if coke or whatever gave off as pungent an aroma.