There still has been no feedback on my homework with the Masterclass.
It doesn’t matter really, but I’m curious. I’m not sure how on-line classes work. Maybe all things are not as instant and the inter-web would have us believe.
So, I’m going to post my first assignment here. Why not?
Our homework was to write a Myth. A myth is a story that may be true, but probably is not. what makes it a myth is that no one can really say it didn’t happen.
So, I present …
My mother had big breasts. None of the women in our family were very tall, all of us had small feet, small hands, but only mom had large breasts. On many occasions I would hear mom telling others, that being big breasted was not her fault. At times I would ask her why she would say such a thing, but I never got the story.
At different times in my life I was both relived and disappointed that my breast were never as large as my moms. Anytime the topic was mentioned mom was adamant, “These are not my fault.”
Mom was the girls junior high P.E teacher. I remember being horrified when she’d instruct the girls in class to “stand straight and get your knockers up ladies!” For the most part, mom was fun. She told a good story, had a lot of friends, but she could also be very strict, very scary and so very proper. I never knew when she was kidding or serious. I was on guard with her, most of the time. Mom was not generous with her time, or personal history, so I was delighted when she asked if I wanted to join her for lunch in Santa Fe one Saturday. She had something to tell me she said.
Santa Fe was the big city for us. Only 35 miles away, it was the town we went for school clothes, shoes, and big grocery hauls. We would zip down the hill, go to the JC Penny’s, have lunch either at Firs Cafeteria or the Lotta Burger, then we’d be home before anyone knew we had gone. There was never any sight seeing, or wandering through galleries. Trips to Santa Fe were all business for our family.
This trip was to be special and I was told to wear something nice, because we were going somewhere nice. My something nice was the fake leather mini skirt, I wore with a light blue blouse. I got this outfit in New York City, last winter when my Grandmother died. We all went out for the funeral. It was on that same trip, my cousin gave me a white pair of Beatle boots she had outgrown. My outfit was complete and I loved how I looked.
Mom drove the two of us to Santa Fe in the Chevy Bel-air, I was surprised when she parked in the pay parking lot, something I had never seen her do before. We usually parked several blocks away from the plaza and walked to the stores. It was a hot day and mom didn’t want to roll up the windows of the car. She did lock the car though, saying, “At least a robber will see we thought about security, and maybe he’ll rob someone else.”
The big surprise was when we walked into the Plaza Hotel and mom told the hostess — “Two for lunch please.” Lunch at the Plaza Hotel right downtown on the Santa Fe Plaza! This was only something the rich tourist did.
When we were seated at our table, one right in the centre of the restaurant, Mom told me that this was the exact same table she and her mother had sat at, years ago. She told me that time though, the Plaza was very busy and the lady seating them, told them there would be a 30 minute wait. Would they like to wait in the bar?
I was glad we got a table right away, since I wasn’t old enough to be in the bar, plus I thought if we had to wait, mom would change her mind at any delay — she wasn’t one to loiter. I was sure she would have told the lady to forget it, and we’d end up at Lotta Burger after all.
The Plaza is a very fancy hotel and its restaurant is fancy. I was so glad I was wearing my leather skirt and cool white Beatle boots. The waiters wore white shirts and mariachi pants or skirts, and the women tied their hair back with red ribbons. Everyone was so polite with “Yes, ma’am” and “Right away sir .” They held my chair out for me when I sat down and put my napkin in my lap for me. When we were asked if we wanted something to drink, I said in a clear voice, “Shirley Temple, please.”
For our lunch, mom ordered the blue corn enchilada plate, I had two chicken tacos. We ordered extra guacamole and ate it with fresh tortilla chips. I saved the umbrella that came with my Shirley Temple. This was a big deal day. The food was good, but yo could have served me burnt toast and rhubarb jam, and I’d be just as happy. I was spending the day and lunching with my mom.
All of a sudden, mom got a far away look on her face, and told me again how lucky we were to get a table today. Then slowly and almost in a whisper, she started to tell me about the lunch she shared with her mother at the Plaza Hotel so many years ago.
Mom said she was just 18 years old, only a few years older than I was that day. She said she wore her something nice that day too. Her something nice was a blue pencil skirt and a flowered blouse. She said she wore white gloves. Her purse matched her shoes. She had just cut off her long braids and was feeling very sophisticated.
Her mother was very sophisticated and came from high society in New York City. It was odd to have her visit in New Mexico. She was a real fish out of water there, but like me, my mother was just glad to be sharing a day with her mother.
At times mom got wistful as she remembered this lunch so long ago. Several times I had to pull her back into the story with, “Then what happened?”
She told me that as they were making their way to the bar to wait for a table, an older man, who was sitting by himself, offered to share his table with them. He said he was just finishing up and there was plenty of room.
Mom said, that was nice of him and they took seats across from him. She said they did not talk to the man, they only shared some pleasantries. She remembered his name was Michael. She described him as a stout man, with horned rim glasses. He had an ivory tipped cane that hung over the only empty chair at the table. She said he reminded her of Uncle Arthur.
She said Michael finished his coffee, and went to pay his bill, and just before he left the cashier, and restaurant, he waved goodbye, and raised the tip of his cane to his forehead in a salute.
Mom said, she remembered he also winked at her, then he left and mom and her mom continued on with their lunch.
When they finished their meal and when they went to pay the bill, that’s when, mom said, “The shit hit fan!” Hearing my mom say shit in public shocked me. It was so out of character for her. Only one other time had I heard her say shit. It had been last summer at the pool. I overheard her telling her friend Sarah, “That girl wouldn’t say shit, if she had a mouthful of it!” For me this was shocking yet oh, so very delicious.
The reason the shit hit the fan was because when Grandmother went to pay the bill it was much more than they expected. An entire other appetizer, lunch, desert and two drinks had been added to their check!
Apparently the man who was so generous in offering to share his table had told the cashier that his friends would be paying for his meal and he had pointed to mom and her mother!
Mom recalled the tip of his cane and this Michaels wink. She told me she was livid.
I’ve seen her angry before. My mother could really make a scene and often it was embarrassing when she did. At times I thought she was very inappropriate. But this mans hutzpah was over the top and I was angry with her as she told me.
“How dare he!” I said under my breath.
Mom said she tried to explain to the cashier how this mix up had happened and how the man was taking advantage of the situation. That they didn’t know him from Adam, and they could not afford the extra cost of the bill, when out the front window, mom said she saw this Michael stroll across the plaza heading towards the JC Penny store.
Without a word or hesitation, mom left the cashier and ran outside to confront Michael.
Her mother watched in horror as she went up to him. Mom said, she started to yell at the man for being dishonest. Then before she could tell Michael how rotten his actions were, she said, “All of a sudden this man Michael raise his cane and hit me!”
What? He hit you!
“Yes,” she said, “he hit me hard with his cane, right across my chest!” “Everyone saw it.” Mom told me she stumbled back, tripped and fell, and then this Michael disappeared in all the commotion.
She went on, she told me several strangers came to her aid and as she struggled to get up, shocked at the events, she felt very strange and noticed her chest really hurt and it started to swell.
In no time at all, exactly where the man had struck her with his cane, moms chest hurt more and more and the swelling continued.
I sat with my mouth open. I could not believe my mothers story.
“It was 3 years later,” she continued, “and believe it or not, I saw this Michael again. I saw him getting into the passengers seat of a large green car near the TG&Y up in Los Alamos.”
“What did you do?” I asked. “Well, when I saw him, I thought, it’s all his fault!”
Watching my mom, I could see the anger and resentment she held come rushing back. “You know after he hit struck me, with that cane, the pain and bruises healed, but the swelling never went down. I’ve had to deal with these two big breast ever since that fateful day.”
Before I could challenge what she just said, she continued.
“I charged him, and I caught him before he could closed the door of the car.”
She said she called on all the strength she could muster, and she grabbed him! She pushed him, but to no avail. Mom told me he wouldn’t budge, until she finally pulled his leg.
Mom turned to me and said, “That’s right, I pulled his leg; the exact same way I’m pulling your leg right now!”
My mother then winked at me, smiled and asked, if I wanted to share a slice of peach pie after our lunch.