From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki: Real Life - Stories I Never Knew... Part 4

I hope you are enjoying my new blog feature, "From the Imagination of Dr. Nicki"… It spotlights original fiction by me. These stories never happened… They are original fiction pieces from my imagination!

Over the course of these two weeks, I'm presenting "Stories I Never Knew...", a 12-part fictional blog story. I hope you enjoy it. Today, I present PART 4. If you missed previous parts, here are those links to read first:

PART 1 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/…/from-imagination-of-dr-n…

PART 2 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/…/from-imagination-of-dr-n…

PART 3 - http://drnickimonti.blogspot.com/2016/09/from-imagination-of-dr-nicki-real-life_21.html

I would never want to leave my mother Esther out of the conversation. It’s funny what you remember about people after they’re gone. Film clips, and faded corners and stark phrases and feelings that wave in, ever more faintly, like a weary tide.

There was no doubt that Mama was Grandfather’s daughter, but still they always reminded me of peas and corn - both in the vegetable family, but each with entirely different shapes and textures and colors.

The first image I have of Mama is the way she looked holding me in her arms. Of course, I may not really remember this at all. I said it before and I’ll say it again - memories are such odd things – constructed of real pictures and stories passed down and adulterated perceptions and sugar-laced fantasies. None-the-less, the memory I have is of Mama’s soft face (the chiseled-in lines came later) – surrounded by the same wiry, mottled hair that hung from Grandfather’s chin. I remember her, then, smiling and pursing her lips at the same time – hazel eyes I could see myself in…and both of us laughing.

Most of the time Mama tried to cage that rebellious hair in wildly colorful babushka’s. I always found those scarves curious. They seemed to represent the only really colorful thing about dear Mama, for in many ways she was much like Grandmother Lollie – all business. Funny though, this all-business part didn’t truly surface until grandmother died. I suppose that’s how it is sometimes. Like a magic trick with scarves of many colors getting longer and longer and becoming, in the end, something you never expected it to be, but might have predicted if you were paying close attention.

Don’t get me wrong though. I adored my Mama. And I miss her now too. Not the same way I miss Grandfather, but just as much. People seem to claim their rightful spot inside you – like a burial plot they’ve reserved. Some plots are grand and flower covered, while others are starkly simple. I visit, now and then, where my Mama lives inside me. Sometimes I cry and sometimes I laugh. And sometimes I just watch the way I lived in her eyes.

But here’s the thing about Mama. About the Jewish side of her anyhow, and about how she was the same but different from Grandfather. You see, Mama took her Judaism very seriously. I mean, Grandfather obviously did too, but not like Mama with all the ungenerous rules. You’d think it would be the other way around – with him being so much older and coming from the old country and all.

Anyway, between the Sabbath strictness, the Passover restrictions and the kosher living (which made me embarrassed to have friends over) I started to feel more caged than inspired by my mother’s version of the teachings.

Maybe that’s why I loved Grandfather’s way so much. He lit me up. Made me want to be a better girl. He taught me that faith was a golden gift filled with centuries of hope and intention.

In any event, I’ll tell you this – when the Temple calls to me now it is never because of the way Mama saw religion. It is always the way Grandfather felt it.