Born in the 1940's to a working class family in Chicago, raised on the north side in the gilded perfection of the 50's, only to break free from those superficial trappings in the 60's to marry and start a family while on the lam in Canada in the 70's, returning to the post-war opulence of the 80's to start her own business, falling into a murky haze in the 90's, emerging triumphant in the mid-2000's, and continuing her creative ascent on the Cottage Grove folk art scene and political stage for many years to come, it is my pleasure to introduce to you, my mom,
Penny Schaack.
Self-Portrait
Penny Schaack.
Self-Portrait (obviously by Penny Schaack)
Happy Mother's Day Mom! At last, your own post! To the one or two people (other than my mom) that might read this blog, you may already know her and many of her best attributes. She is intuitive, creative, generous, warm, open-minded, supportive, quirky, passionate, dedicated, thoughtful, and always has time for someone who needs it-- young or old, daughter or stranger, do-gooder or deviant. She is a good friend, artist, role-model, adoptive grand-mother, actual mother, influence, sounding board, and enthusiast for things she loves or knows that I love. There have been few plateaus in her life-- but despite many ups and downs, over the last five years she has enjoyed a wonderful renaissance that I have been both proud and relieved to witness.
This comeback, and her incredible, indefatigable zest, were epitomized last year right around this time when I was walking with her to work on her first day back on the job after suffering severe injuries in a car wreck. It had taken us well over an hour to walk two and a half blocks from her house to the community center where she works. This was in part because she had a cast on her arm, was just starting to walk again (with assistance), and we were lugging an oxygen tank, but it was also because almost everyone we passed on the street stopped to hug her and welcome her home from the hospital. Shopkeepers came out of their shops. Joggers stopped their running. Old ladies who knew her, hippies who just saw her kindred, tie-dyed spirit-- all of them stopped us to hug her and welcome her back to the heart of Cottage Grove.
And when we were almost there, waiting at the corner to cross the street, she turned to me and said completely seriously, "You know Sar, I think I'm gonna be the mayor of this town one day." I tried not to laugh, but failed, and looked at her with a canula in her nose, walker in hand, and said something like, "Really, mom? You think you're gonna be the mayor of Cottage Grove?" with my familiar, but loving, smart-assy skepticism. "Well, it is certainly a possibility!" she insisted, "you know, it's mostly a ceremonial position anyway-- ribbon cuttings, and dedications, that sort of thing...." If coming back from within an inch of your life to aspirations of holding the highest political office in an exceedingly small town does not represent an extraordinarily buoyant spirit, I don't know what does.
Thank you Mom.
I'm glad you're here, and you're you, and that I am your daughter.
Thinking of you (and the Gen) at 18000 ft in Chile.
This comeback, and her incredible, indefatigable zest, were epitomized last year right around this time when I was walking with her to work on her first day back on the job after suffering severe injuries in a car wreck. It had taken us well over an hour to walk two and a half blocks from her house to the community center where she works. This was in part because she had a cast on her arm, was just starting to walk again (with assistance), and we were lugging an oxygen tank, but it was also because almost everyone we passed on the street stopped to hug her and welcome her home from the hospital. Shopkeepers came out of their shops. Joggers stopped their running. Old ladies who knew her, hippies who just saw her kindred, tie-dyed spirit-- all of them stopped us to hug her and welcome her back to the heart of Cottage Grove.
And when we were almost there, waiting at the corner to cross the street, she turned to me and said completely seriously, "You know Sar, I think I'm gonna be the mayor of this town one day." I tried not to laugh, but failed, and looked at her with a canula in her nose, walker in hand, and said something like, "Really, mom? You think you're gonna be the mayor of Cottage Grove?" with my familiar, but loving, smart-assy skepticism. "Well, it is certainly a possibility!" she insisted, "you know, it's mostly a ceremonial position anyway-- ribbon cuttings, and dedications, that sort of thing...." If coming back from within an inch of your life to aspirations of holding the highest political office in an exceedingly small town does not represent an extraordinarily buoyant spirit, I don't know what does.
Thank you Mom.
I'm glad you're here, and you're you, and that I am your daughter.
Thinking of you (and the Gen) at 18000 ft in Chile.
No comments:
Post a Comment