My First 65 Years

By Ellen M. Levy

Many of Ellen’s intimate, playful stories will make you laugh. Her natural exuberance and fascination with life is contagious. She rivaled her grandmother’s catering career with a love of cooking, fine foods, and gluttony. Her “Brownie” camera pictures led her collecting enough photographs to fill this book (and many others.) Stories of her love of travel will make you want to hop on a plane. Her passions (chocolate, sex, cats, the arts, etc.) may become your temptations. Even her most painful experiences - the deaths of her beloved aunt and brother, her infertility, and the loss of her business gave her strength. Ellen’s unique perspective will encourage you to value your own precious memories.

Ellen M. Levy, B.S., M.A., C.A.G.S., grew up in Newton, Massachusetts. She has worked in non-profit management for over 30 years. This is her first full-length book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483413495

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LEVY

Copyright © 2014 Ellen M. Levy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1350-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1349-5 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 10/08/2014

CONTENTS

AN INTRODUCTION

DEAR READER,

GUIDELINES TO READING THIS MEMOIR

ACT I FAMILY TIES

CHAPTER 1: ALMOST PERFECT MOTHER

1947 PHYLLIS LEVY (born Pauline Theresa Wolff)

1952 BEST MOM IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

1958 LETTERS FROM MOM

1958 PARENTING A PRE-TEEN

1965 MOM AS ADVISOR

1965 LESS THAN PERFECT

1971 TWO GAY KIDS!

CHAPTER 2: NO TEARS WHEN MOM DIED

1957 MENOPAUSE AND PUBERTY COLLIDE

1959 DEALING WITH ADOLESCENT ANGST

1960 TEAMWORK

1965 MOM OF AN EMERGING YOUNG ADULT

1970 PARENTING CONTINUED

1977 MOM’S DETERIORATING HEALTH

1983 MENDING OUR RELATIONSHIP

1989 MOM’S FINAL PHYSICAL AND MENTAL DECLINE

CHAPTER 3: TO SYD WITH LOVE

1947 SYDNEY RALPH LEVY, THE QUIET MAN

1952 UNSUCCESSFUL CAREER

1958 DAD’S IMPACT

1966 MEDICAL CRISES

1982 A BURST OF LIFE

1985 CARETAKER

1995 REBORN

1996 DAD’S MEMOIR

1996 SYD’S FINAL CHAPTER

CHAPTER 4: CHERISHING MY SISTER

May 21, 1951 NANCY MAE LEVY JOINS THE FAMILY

1959 SILLY SISTER

1963 NANCY’S GROWING UP

1984 GARDNER

1991 BABY MICAH ARRIVES

1991 MOM’S DECLINE/DAD MOVES IN

2002 NANCY’S MEDICAL CRISIS

CHAPTER 5: IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER

MARCH 10, 1954 OUR FAMILY IS COMPLETE

1959 UNHAPPY SON

1974 BECOMING ARYAE

1977 TAKING CHARGE

1983 AIDS STRIKES

1994 ARYAE’S PASSING

1994 ARYAE’S OBITUARY

CHAPTER 6: IMMEDIATE FAMILY

(AUNT) IDA

GRANDMA LEVY

GRANDMA WOLFF

CHAPTER 7: THE WHOLE MISHPOCHAH

COUSIN ALAN

AUNT ETHEL

UNCLE HAROLD

KERNA, HARRY, AND THEIR OFFSPRING

MARION AND ALICE

MIRIAM’S FAMILY

GRANDPA WOLFF

ETHEL AND SUZIE

ACT II COMING OF AGE

CHAPTER 8: CHILDHOOD GROWING PAINS

1952 NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

1953 NANTASKET BEACH

1953 SHY CHILD

1954 NEIGHBORHOOD FRIENDS

1954 CAMPS

1954 BEING STAR-STRUCK

1956 BEING BULLIED

1957 ARLENE

CHAPTER 9: UNLEASHING MY PASSION FOR THE ARTS

1957 THE MAGIC OF POETRY

1960 MUSEUM OF FINE ARTS

1960 THE SOUNDS OF MUSIC

1966 ART OPTIONS

2005 EXPANDING HORIZONS

CHAPTER 10: JUNIOR LESSONS AT JUNIOR HIGH

1960 ELLEN R

1960 SEX 101

1962: MOOSE (JIMMY W)

1962 DR. KINGSLEY

1962 BEING JEWISH/ USY

1962 FIRST JOBS

CHAPTER 11: ADOLESCENT AWAKENINGS

1963 BEV S

1963 DONNY L

1963 INITIATING MY CAREER IN MENTAL HEALTH

1963 DATING

1964 DICK

1964 CLUB 47

1965 MY BEATNIK PHASE

CHAPTER 12: INTERNATIONAL ADVENTURES

1967 MONTREAL, CANADA WITH MOM, DAD, NANCY, AND LARRY

1970 HONEYMOON IN EUROPE

1977 DIVORCE TRIP TO EUROPE WITH ARYAE

1979 Olé, MEXICO WITH ARYAE AND TIM

1987 SEATTLE, WASINGTON

1998 THE ALGARVE AND COSTA DEL SOL WITH ABBY (pseudonym)

2000 PERU, MICAH’S GLORIOUS HOMELAND

CHAPTER 13: UNIVERSITY ROOMATES

1966 THE ROOMIES

1966 BEV C

1966 LYNN M

1966 VICKI K

1969 RUKMINI D

CHAPTER 14: COLLEGE ROMANCES

1966 LARRY R

1967 STRANGER IN THE NIGHT

1967 DAVID F

1969 BORIS (Pseudonym)

ACT III ADULTHOOD: EXPLORATIONS

CHAPTER 15: PLEASURES AND PAINS OF MARRIAGE

1968 MEETING MY HUSBAND

1968 GETTING TO KNOW BORIS AND HIS FAMILY

1970 MARRIED!

1970 GRADUATE SCHOOL INSPIRATIONS

1970 OUTDOOR WONDERS

1970 FARM LIFE

1971 CREATING ROLES

1974 BABY WOES

1977 DIFFERENCES AND DIVORCE

CHAPTER 16: FOUNDATION OF MY CAREER

1966 NORTHAMPTON STATE HOSPITAL

1966 JUDGE BAKER CLINIC CAMP

1967 CHILD DEVELOPMENT MAJOR

1969 GRADUATE SCHOOL

CHAPTER 17: EXPLORING ADULTHOOD

1970 RAVI AND CLAUDETTE K

1970 PROJECT GRACIE

1970 ESTELLE C

1972 POLITICAL ABSTINENCE

1973 MEDICAL MATTERS

1976 BETTY (pseudonym)

1976 TORI

CHAPTER 18: SIZZLING LIFE AFTER DIVORCE

1977 MEN

1977 CAROLYN S

1977 ROWE CAMP AND CONFERENCE CENTER

1977 SANDRA J

1978 DIANE N

1978 WORKSHOP LEADER (name withheld to protect the innocent)

1979 CONSORTIUM EMERGENCY SERVICES NETWORK (CESN)

CHAPTER 19: BUILDING SIGNIFICANT FRIENDSHIPS

1979 GARRY M

1979 TINK H

1981 LJUBA M

1982 BELINDA (Pseudonym)

1982 DR. AARON (Pseudonym)

CHAPTER 20: SHIFTING BACK AND FORTH

1983 CARING FOR AGING PARENTS

1983 BISEXUALITY

1983 THERAPY WITH SUSAN

CHAPTER 21: INSIGHTS

1983 INSIGHT TRANSFORMATIONAL SEMINARS

1983 B’NAI OR

1984 WOMEN

CHAPTER 22: MIDLIFE

1983 CAROLE R

1983 PARTIES

1983 WORK LIFE IN BOSTON

1986 TRUDY L

1989 MENOPAUSE

ACT IV LESBIAN LIFE

CHAPTER 23: COMMITMENT TO DEB

1986 FALLING FOR DEB R

1989 COMMITMENT CEREMONY

1989 RHODE ISLAND

2005 WASHINGTON, D.C., AND NILDA

CHAPTER 24: BUSINESS OR BUST

1991 CREATIVE ALTERNATIVES

1991 JUDITH

1997 INDEPENDENT ELDERCARE AGENCY

1997 PARENTS IN A PINCH

CHAPTER 25: ALONG CAME MICAH

1991 BABY MICAH

1991 MY OPPORTUNITY TO CO-PARENT

1991 NANCY AND MICAH’S COMMUNITY

1995 MICAH’S PETS

2003 MICAH’S COMING OF AGE

2003 DOMINICAN REPUBLIC WITH MICAH

2006 AMAZING ADOLESCENT AND YOUNG ADULT

CHAPTER 26: LESBIAN CONNECTIONS

1991 SUSAN L

1995 SARAH V

1995 CHRIS R

1995 KAREN M

1997 DELILAH (pseudonym)

CHAPTER 27: ABBY TO BIRGIT

1996 ABBY D (pseudonym)

2000 DIANE H

2000 BEV F

2001 RHEA B

2001 KATHY S/SUE M

2001 BIRGIT K

ACT V REAPING THE BENEFITS: MY SENIOR YEARS

CHAPTER 28: EMBRACING PAULI

2001 SEDUCTEE OR SEDUCTRESS?

2001 HOW DO I LOVE PAULI? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

2001 NURSE PAULI

2001 MINISTER TO WANNABE JEW

2001 PAULI’S OBESSIONS

2001 OPPOSITES ATTRACT

2002 DOMESTIC TRAVELS WITH PAULI

CHAPTER 29: REMARRIED – FOR GOOD

2004 BECOMING MY WIFE!

2004 MARRIED LIFE

2008 MICHIGAN ACCIDENT

2006 OLD MARRIED LADIES (Alter Kockers is Yiddish for old farts)

2013 PAULI’S HUGE HEART

CHAPTER 30: OUTLAWS BECOME IN-LAWS

2001 CAROLINE A (Pauli’s mom)

2001 EDWARD A (Pauli’s dad)

2001 EXTENDED IN-LAWS/ KINFOLKS

CHAPTER 31: FOREIGN TRAVEL WITH PAULI

2002 SWISS, GERMAN, AND FRENCH ALPS (With Girlfriend Pauli)

2006 QUEBEC CITY, CANADA (For Honeymoon With Pauli)

2007 BANFF, ALBERTA, CANADA (With Pauli And Friends)

2010 COSTA RICA (With Vermont Bicycle Tours)

2012 IRELAND (With Pauli, Janet And Maryanne)

2013 DOMINICAN REPUBLIC (With Bev, Lynn, And Pauli)

CHAPTER 32: PROFESSIONAL FULFILLMENT

2007 CAREER SERVICE PROGRAM DIRECTOR (Downtown Boston)

2008 CHARLEY M (Mentor)

2012 UPHAM’S CORNER HEALTH CARE

2013 RETIREMENT!

2014 JEWISH VOCATIONAL SERVICES

CHAPTER 33: LIFELONG PASSIONS

MY CATS (Mittens/Rex/Cookie/Tara/ Benton/Carter/Moula/Penny)

FOOD (Cooking, catering, chocolate)

SPECIAL EVENTS (First Night, Lantern Festival Cirque du Soleil)

2004 VAREKAI/CIRQUE DU SOLIEL

DREAM WORK

BARGAIN SHOPPING

COLLECTING (Sentimental, beautiful, practical, delicious)

CHAPTER 34: SENIOR PASSIONS

RENOVATING HOUSES (And uninvited guests)

MAH JONGG (Jewelry making)

BEADING (Chinese tile game)

MEMOIR (This is it!)

CHAPTER 35: EPILOGUE

REGRETS

CAREER

RELATIONSHIPS

PASSIONS

ENTHUSIASM

APPRECIATION

THE EXPERIENCE OF REMEMBERING

DEATH

VISIONS FOR THE FUTURE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing this book was a monumental task, made easier by loving friends. Following two memoir classes led by Naomi Lamba-Gomes, hard work, focus, lots of determination, and encouragement from others, I finished the first draft. What I never expected was that that draft was just the first step in a long process of getting ready for publication.

The next step was to turn to my sister for her review of the family chapters. What was interesting to both of us is that our memories were sometimes different, and our perspectives often differed too. I used many of her suggestions, though I stuck to some of my stories, even if they were not the same as hers.

I had three official editors, Dick Stiebel, Deborah Roberts, and Rhea Becker. Dick, the first person to read the book, was a high school boyfriend with whom I had been out of touch with for over 40 years. I contacted him, as part of my reaching out to many folks who I had just written about, and he willingly accepted my offer to let him edit the book. I had no idea that Dick would stick around, reading every page over and over, through the first and second edits. I am grateful to Dick for giving me perspective and helping me to view the book through a stranger’s eyes.

Deb, my ex-partner and everlasting friend, was busy writing her own book. We began sending chapters from each of our books back on forth. Deb offered to edit my whole book, an incredible offer from one of the most generous people I know. She gave me invaluable advice that helped me to transform the book into a much more readable document. She taught me to use short sentences to make my point, rather than the rambling sentences I was prone to. Deb counted one sentence of 42 words, which made my problem very obvious. During the rest of my edits, I kept much of Deb’s advice at the forefront of my thoughts, when deciding what to condense. During the final editing stages, Deb published two short stories in the Chicken Soup of the Soul series. She has finished the first draft of her own, still un-named book. Having read the most recent edit of her first chapter, I am incredibly impressed with her writing skills. I am fascinated with her tale, based on her dad’s experiences as a returning World War II veteran.

My third editor was my friend Rhea. Rhea has been a professional writer and editor for many years. She offered her assistance before she knew what the scope of the project was. (400 pages of poorly punctuated manuscript!) Without complaint, but with a stack of red pencils, she undertook the laborious task of turning my ramblings into readable prose. I am very pleased with the numerous corrections she made, improving my book significantly.

Once the book was in Rhea’s hands, I tackled the overwhelming task of selecting photographs. I gathered about 800 pictures about people and places that I had just written about and was stymied with the task of choosing those that told my story best. This is when my dear wife, Pauli, stepped in to assist me. She had edited films and is a photography buff, so she was assigned the role of photography editor. She enhanced every photograph with her trained eye and skilled hands. Then she helped me to weed out about half of the pictures. You have her to thank for 48 pages of wonderful pictures.

Once the first ten edits and the photography pages were complete, I excitedly sent the book to the publisher, proud of my accomplishment. When I got back the proof and read through the first 60 pages, I realized that my enthusiasm had been premature. The book was filled with mistakes, many that I made while editing the previous mistakes. By now I was happily engaged with editing, so I tackled edit 11 with gusto. I possessed a newfound perspective on how to tighten the writing (as my memoir classes and Deb had tried to teach me. Guess I am a slow learner.)

After I finished editing, I realized that I needed another reader to catch my newly made mistakes. No one I asked was willing. Finally, I asked my Mah Jongg group, who offered to each read one part. I divided the book into sections, fearlessly asking others to join in this more manageable task. The following folks each gave me invaluable input: Phyllis Guillano (who edited the punctuation on three of the five acts,) Paula Barta, Diane Regan, Vicki Kaplan, Trudy Latzko, and Tink Hartdaegen. They each found one to three typos (which were sometimes actually spelling errors, though I did not admit to that!) The final edit hopefully caught the bulk of my writing challenges.

As this project comes to a final close, I am especially appreciative of my loving wife, Pauline Albrecht, who supported my obsession with this project. 13 edits later, here it is!

AN INTRODUCTION

"Time present and time past
 are both perhaps present in time future…

What might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present."

Excerpt from T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

As I entered my 66th year, I found myself turning nostalgic. Reaching the official beginning of my senior life, I suddenly looked backward as often as forward, feeling at a crossroads between growth and decline. I trust that my personal growth will continue, with exciting adventures awaiting me, but the solid core of my being was established many years ago.

One of the basic truths for me is that people have always been the center of my life. There are multitudes of people with whom I have danced and with whom I have cried. Some are people I have loved, others taught me difficult lessons. This memoir is a reflection about those people whose lives have intersected significantly with mine.

Not surprisingly, the most lasting influences have been my earliest connections and my formative years, which went on for a very, very long time. I am still influenced by the wonderful people with whom I surround myself, so this book is a grand Thank You to everyone who has guided me. I am happy with who I have become. As I enter my Golden Years, I hope, as my mother did, that they rust ever so slowly.

I promise that this is a memoir and not just a tale of woe. After the second chapter, when my challenging mother distorted my views, life became more fun, and pleasurable. You will enter my world of intriguing characters, sexual explorations, spiritual connections, and, of course, loving relationships. I hope you will laugh with me through my comical experiences, cry real tears through my losses, and have feelings down there as you hear of some of my erotic escapades. Hopefully you will be entranced by some of my misadventures, and you will be reminded of your own escapades. My reflections may trigger your fondest or most secret memories. I hope you are touched by my honest dissection of my life.

This story is my life story. It is about me, my exploration of the world, and my maturing into it. Let’s begin the journey of reflection together.

DEAR READER,

Warning: If you are a literary snob, read no further. This book is definitely not the work of a budding literary genius, nor is it full of lyrical prose. In the words of the Mean Girls in my memoir class, After reading the first page of this book, I would read no further. Pooh to them! Despite their harshness, I have incorporated their writing lessons to make this more readable.

I am far from a perfect writer, but I have had a fascinating life that will hopefully intrigue you. You will learn that even though I had a difficult childhood, wild and sexy early adulthood, and multiple losses, I am a survivor and have lived a glorious life. I hope that my story, one in which I have always been in pursuit of pleasure, will help you to be more curious about the people, events, and passions that helped to make you who you are.

Maybe you are curious about how a Jewish lesbian developed a strength of character, or how someone with a disturbed, aggressive mother, came to be a loving, caring adult. Maybe you are an acquaintance or a friend who wants to get to know me better. Any of these reasons will do, though you may not want to read this is if you are a prude or homophobic. (This memoir has a solid R rating.)

I hope my story will encourage you to think of your own life. My favorite responses when I read to people what I have written about them is when they start talking of their own mom, their own coming out, their own losses, their own joys. So many of my experiences and emotions are universal. What is unique is the way everything fits together in my personal story. Nothing would please me more than having you, the reader, become the writer. Do not let any Mean Girls haunt you with criticism. (They became my personal guides and my nemesis.) Reading this will teach you that perfect writing technique is not necessary to put your life into words.

I encourage you to start writing when you are young enough to remember. The process of recalling my life’s events has been incredibly rich. Learn through me how to enjoy the discoveries that come with remembering. You, too, must have memorable characters from your past, passions that lead you, people you have loved, and those you have lost. The most wonderful reaction I could hope for would be to begin receiving your stories in response. Bring them on. I will treasure them as I hope you will treasure mine.

Ellen

GUIDELINES TO READING THIS MEMOIR

I know that most books do not need instructions, but this book reads the way my mind works. My wife, Pauli, calls this book chronologically tangential. I tend to think on many tracks at the same time and to go back and forth between past and present. Just in case this is not the way your mind works, I will offer you some help understanding the unusual style in which this is written.

The book is divided into sections of my life, with each chapter covering a few days to a decade. I have separated each significant influence in my life as a separate story, though they often overlap with one another. If you are tempted to jump to an interesting topic or someone you know, you may be confused about some of the characters, because they are introduced the first time you meet them, but not in each occurrence. All locations are in Massachusetts, unless otherwise stated.

The chronology may seem confusing. The dates listed are when that person or influence first entered my life. I then follow that person through the years. Therefore, the date of 1957, for example, does not signify that all the activities in that section happened in that year, but merely that they began in that year.

I have tried, whenever possible, to link a character to the previous or next section in which they are mentioned. For instance, you are hearing of my dear wife, Pauli, for the first time in this introduction, but it is not until Chapter 27 that you meet her in entirety. Hopefully that will leave you curious about some of the characters you meet along the way, wanting a more complete description. Most of them will be more thoroughly explored later.

You may wonder why there are so many photographs in this memoir. While writing this I was taught to describe each person so that you, the reader, will be able to picture him or her. I don’t want to waste my words describing everyone’s physical attributes: I would rather show you a photograph. I use my prose to describe their inner attributes instead, which is what matters to me. I love to look nice and I care about life’s beauty, but I don’t care whether the people in my life are beautiful or not. One friend told me that she only chooses partners who are attractive, since nice people can come in nice packages. I really don’t care. Hence, some of my partners are beautiful, and others are not.

You can view additional photographs on Facebook. Like and Follow Ellen Levy’s Memoir and you will see color pictures, videos of my wedding, and much more. You can also ask me details about some of my incredible adventures!

Welcome to the overlapping and interrelated world of my life.

ACT I

FAMILY TIES

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CHAPTER ONE

ALMOST PERFECT MOTHER

I was a lucky baby. I was born to a couple who wanted desperately to parent. My mom was 28 years old when she finally got married. Dad was drafted while on their honeymoon. After four years of military service during World War II, they were reunited and immediately started their family. I joined the Baby Boom generation on July 23, 1947, the answer to Mom’s dreams.

So what was my almost perfect mother like? During the earliest years of my life, my mom was a loving, happy, and supportive mother, totally focused on my welfare. She had a ready smile, a warm and loving manner, and she was playful.

Mom’s playful side created a world full of fun and folly for all of us. She could be really silly and she encouraged all of us to be the same. She would tell us stories of her antics when she was young. She got a gleam in her eye when she told of getting in trouble in school for doing naughty things. She must have been disappointed that all three of her children were more somber and well behaved than she was.

Mom’s parents never got along, so she grew up with loud fighting. She was never close to her only sibling, Harold. I only learned of her childhood from her comment that she would not watch soap operas because they reminded her of her home growing up.

I was raised according to New Haven-born Dr. Benjamin Spock, the same place I was born. He was the renowned pediatrician whose book The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care was published in 1946, just before I was born. The book was one of the biggest bestsellers of all time, second only to the Bible. He influenced my mother and several generations of parents to treat children as individuals and to be flexible and affectionate with them. My mother took permissiveness to an extreme, as she was as flexible as she was able to be. She tried to treat each of her three children as individuals. Since we all turned out quite differently, she took credit for her success in that arena also.

For four years I was an only child. This gave me plenty of time to be spoiled. I was a shy child who never took advantage of my status. Mom’s second child, a daughter named Nancy, was a joy, and a son, Larry, two years later made the family complete. Many times Mom was bursting in anticipation of her kids’ joy.

Mom’s only goal in life was to be a great mother. From my perspective as a young child, Mom seemed perfect.

1947 PHYLLIS LEVY (born Pauline Theresa Wolff)

My mom was a fat, dark-haired beauty. Her hair was almost black. Her eyes sparkled when she received attention, but there was an air of sadness about her. Her prominent Jewish nose and her brightly painted red lips did not distract from her full-mouthed smile. The lovely face gave no hint of the large body below.

Mom had an ample bosom (which I, unfortunately, did not inherit). She had a thick waist, and both a stomach and hips of disproportionate blubber. Her thighs narrowed like ice cream cones. Below her knees, her legs were shapely, but engorged with huge blue varicose veins. Her feet were the size and width of small canoes (which I, unfortunately, did inherit) and achingly held her large girth. After every round of weight loss, she replenished those persistent pounds by eating too many desserts (my pattern, too).

Mom always wanted to have a child. Because she was overweight, she found it difficult to find a partner. In 1942, she finally got married, much later than most of her friends and relatives. Though Dad did not have an education, a career, or much sophistication, he was a gentleman from a nice family, and he wanted her. Dad was drafted into World War II immediately upon their return from their honeymoon. Their separation contributed to their life-long appreciation of each other.

I arrived in 1947, an extremely welcome addition. We lived in New Haven, Connecticut, isolated from friends and family. We moved back to Brookline, Massachusetts, when I was two. Both of my parents’ families were now nearby. My first years were carefully tracked in my baby book. The home movies of my early years featured smiles and adoration for their new bundle of joy. I vividly remember several stories from when I was four years old that remind me of how sweet Mom was.

• One time, Mom left me with our cleaning person while she went grocery shopping. Everything was fine until I had to go to the bathroom. As I was about to flush, a tiny mouse ran past my feet, and I screamed. The cleaning lady came running, but when the rodent ran by her legs, too, she shrieked, and we both ran for safety. At that moment, my mother walked in, stunned by the two of us hysterical females standing on the kitchen table. Mom rescued us and pushed the mouse out the back door with a broom.

• Every time company came over for dinner, Mom set individual salads at each person’s place. And every time she set the salads, the green pepper slices mysteriously disappeared from the salads before the guests arrived and before my bedtime. Mom quickly learned to keep a second plate of sliced green peppers set aside to replenish the salads after I was asleep. (My love for vegetables developed at a very early age!)

• When I scraped my knee just before a birthday party, I cried. I was more upset than in pain: my injured knee would look ugly sticking out under the crinoline skirt of my special party dress. Mom dried my tears. She made a heart-shaped bandage and colored it red to match the dress. I arrived at the party with red-rimmed eyes, but more importantly a smile on my lips and love-forged artwork on my knee.

When I was in kindergarten, we moved to Newton, Massachusetts. By then I had a sister, Nancy. My brother Larry joined the family soon after we moved. Grandma Wolff helped us buy our lovely middle-class home, but nothing helped us fit in. Everyone in Newton was richer than we were. The next-door neighbors were country club types, with fine jewels, nice furnishings, and a masseuse (a word I’d never heard before). Their kids were dressed perfectly for their piano and ballet lessons. My mom tried to keep up with them by sending me to a modern dance class— a serious mistake for her large, klutzy kid.

When I was in fourth grade, I had a special experience on one of our yearly class trips to the Science Museum. I knew I would be re-introduced to Smokey the Owl and a boa constrictor that I saw in their special show to school classes. Mom packed me a picnic lunch but I was worried about how I would crack the hard-boiled egg that she sent along. She gave me careful instructions to crack it on my head, the only hard surface that I would be sure to find. I was to peel it carefully so that I would not have to eat pieces of shell. As we sat outside on the lawn I followed her instructions. To my horror, she had sent me with the wrong egg. The raw egg dripped down my hair and made quite a mess of my dress. I remember the teacher taking me to the bathroom to clean me up. Mom and I laughed about this many times, though at the time, I was extremely embarrassed.

Mom was the center of my world when I was young. She was available for me every day after school, and she provided us a wonderful family dinner every night. She was considerate of my feelings and protective of me because I was a shy, withdrawn child. She gave me her time and attention, rather than the gifts, toys, and new clothes all the other mothers in Newton bestowed upon their children. Appearance mattered a lot to Mom, so she dressed me as the attractive person she had always wanted to be— yet always in hand-me-downs from her rich friends’ children.

Mom explained to me that someday I would outgrow my awkwardness and timidity. She helped me to believe that someday I would love being the tallest, biggest girl in my class. You will reach your potential, she loved to tell me. (This was a term she used often, starting when I was nine years old.) Every night, Mom kissed me goodnight and tucked me into bed. I felt truly loved, even though I have no memories of her ever telling me that she loved me. I thought my mom was the best.

1952 BEST MOM IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

I was not the only one who thought my mom was great. When I was in elementary school, the children who lived nearby called her the best mom in the neighborhood. She always made our home a special place to visit, and everyone felt welcome there.

Mom always seemed to have my best interest at heart when I was young. She signed me up for weekly skating at the Boston Ice Skating Club because I loved to skate. For a special treat she would make thumb cookies with me and my sister. She would make lemon meringue pies for holidays because she knew that was my favorite. She taught cooking to my Girl Scout troop. Mom tuned the radio to music I would enjoy. In the summer of 1958, as she drove me home from overnight camp, she turned on Dean Martin’s song Volare. She wanted me to be up-to-date with what the other kids were listening to – she cared more than I did, but I thought it was cool. Large as she was, I was pleasantly surprised when she encouraged me to join her doing exercises on the floor. She often abandoned her cooking to listen to the jokes I was laughing at on my favorite afternoon television show, Who Do You Trust? (Later on its emcee, Johnny Carson, became one of her favorite late-night hosts.)

Mom was very affectionate, and often joined me on the wide arm of the overstuffed armchair I loved to sit in, rubbing my arm or caressing my hair. I fondly remember these stories of my mom at her best:

• When I was nine, Mom and I went to shop for shoes for my oversized feet. As we left the store, a kid rammed his bike into a gumball machine on the street corner, and the gumballs went flying. After making certain that the kid was okay, Mom gave me a look. I immediately knew we were about to have fun. Mom and I went scrambling for gumballs, gathering up as many as we could possibly carry. We headed home to wash them and share them with my sister and brother. In my eyes, that was one of the coolest things a mom could do.

• On our first television set, we saw lots of kids celebrating Christmas. Mom didn’t want us to feel different, so on Christmas morning we kids woke up early to find wrapped presents in front of the fireplace. Mom told us that Christmas trees weren’t allowed in Jewish households, but cookies for Santa Claus were expected. Mom continued this for each of us until we were old enough to learn that Santa didn’t come to the homes of Jewish children.

There were many times when mom was very sensitive to my needs. When I ran a high fever, I would occasionally become delirious; Mom would calm me until I felt better. She would comfort me when I had an occasional bad dream that the wild boar of one of my boldly illustrated storybooks was coming after me. She would be very caring when I was carsick and loving when I got hurt or was ill. When I got four teeth pulled before my braces, she fainted when she found her daughter surrounded by a small pool of blood. When I kept my elastics on my braces, even when the pain made me cry, she acknowledged how brave I was. She was very helpful, even from afar, when I was thrown by a horse at overnight camp; I remember her empathetic encouragement to face my fears and get back on horseback immediately. When I saw what I thought was a turkey in our back yard, she believed me, even when the neighborhood kids thought I was lying. (I later realized it was a wild pheasant, who had escaped from woods across the street.)

Mom worked hard to instill her values in us. She told me, If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. (I still live by this creed.) I have vivid memories of one important life lesson Mom taught me when I was ten years old.

I went to the corner store to buy movie magazines with the two girls next door. One of the girls was excited because the shop owner only charged her for one magazine, when she had unintentionally stacked two together. I was jealous. The next time I went to purchase magazines, I deliberately stacked mine on top of each other. As I had hoped, I was only charged for one magazine. When I told my mother of my achievement, she gently told me that my behavior was dishonest. She made me return to the store and pay them the quarter I owed for the magazine. I felt awful about what I had done.

I never cheated or lied again. (Well… except for one time when I was in junior high school and I told my mother I had not seen my boyfriend, when I had. Within 10 minutes I cried uncontrollably, and told her of my lie. After spilling the whole truth, I decided that I was not built of the fabric of deceit.) I honestly never lied again.

1958 LETTERS FROM MOM

When I was away at camp, mom sent me letters that expressed her hopes, dreams, and concerns for me. Here are some excerpts:

• Ellen darling - I just love the poem you wrote mostly because of the way it reflects your beautiful deep thoughts. It shows what beauty and gratitude are in your heart and it makes me so happy to know that you want to express your innermost feelings. Not many of us have the ability to write as beautifully as you do, darling, both in poetry and prose, so realize that you have a God-given talent and I want you to make the most of it.

• Keep yourself neat and clean, dear – and special attention to the lovely teeth. You need them for that million dollar smile!

• I love you and am anxious to see you - but have another good week of fun.

• Please take care of your teeth darling. You must brush them regularly every morning and night. You know how easily you develop cavities and please try to avoid it. It is bad enough you have my feet - you don’t want my bridge work too - do you?

• Happy, happy birthday my sweet girl. This 13th is the age of Bat Mitzvah or the turning point from a child into a young lady. In your language, you are a real teenager, so though you will not look different, we will be expecting more grown up actions from you. Now you will expect more responsibility, but just stay as sweet as you are! You are growing into a sweet, charming, lovable young lady, that I could burst with joy and pride as I see all my dreams of you being fulfilled. You are everything I wanted in a daughter, darling, and now as your problems get greater and you will often question my discipline and judgment, remember that above all I love you very deeply and will try to guide you wisely. Believe in me dear as I believe in you and never forget that Mother and Dad both have your welfare and your future happiness in our hearts and thoughts all of the time.

• How are the teeth? Keep brushing

1958 PARENTING A PRE-TEEN

My Mom taught me my first lessons about being a woman when I was ten and she told me that I had to wear a bra or undershirt in the summer. I was confused why I had to cover my flat chest, but Mom gave me no choice. I had to buy a bra with a stretchy cup, ready to accommodate my non-existent breasts. Then Mom sent me to a pre-teen group, were I dared to ask other girls if it was okay to wear a sweater over a perfectly flat chest. They assured me that it was fine. It was quite a while before those cups stretched at all.

I clearly remember the monumental day I got my first menstrual period, when I was 11. I woke up one morning to discover that I had gotten my period for the first time, and I excitedly ran into my parents’ bedroom to announce that I was now a woman. Mom brought me to the bathroom to help me prepare for the coming day. She whispered that this was not something to discuss with my father. I was confused by his exclusion.

Later that same day, my mother wanted to teach me that life would be the same, even though it felt like I was a new person. She took me shopping. As we walked into a department store, I felt really funny. Before I knew what was happening, I fainted. I was really embarrassed when the store clerk had to bring me smelling salts, because I was convinced that she knew that I had just gotten my period for the first time.

1965 MOM AS ADVISOR

I learned some valuable lessons from my mom during my college years. I am afraid that I often understood her comments as intrusive rather than instructive. But luckily I paid attention to this suggestion:

Mom taught me a valuable lesson on my first day of college. Mom quietly warned me that not everyone wakes up in a good mood, like I do. Some people need coffee before they talk, so Mom suggested that I tame my morning enthusiasm until people were adequately caffeinated. Many people, over the years, have been grateful for her recommendation.

Mom gave me meaningful advice as I was leaving on my honeymoon. She pulled me aside, informing me that successful relationships are based on each person giving sixty percent. Wise suggestion.

I learned about generosity when she offered to pay for my dental work and my shoes when I first got married. She felt responsible because bad teeth and huge feet were inherited problems.

1965 LESS THAN PERFECT

There’s an old Yiddish saying: ‘There is one perfect child in the world, and every mother has it.’ Unfortunately, there are no perfect parents. (Huffington Post, Apr 30, 2013.) Despite the fact that Mom seemed like the perfect mother, there were some signs that I never noticed as a child that hinted at problems that were to come. She never taught me some of the basic life lessons that parents generally teach their children.

• Mom never got me to brush my teeth regularly, even after the dentist found 16 cavities during one visit when I was in the fourth grade (though she did make a valiant effort in her letters when I was at camp).

• Mom did not help brush the knots out of my hair, even after my fourth grade school photograph captured my headful of tangles.

• My mother never assisted me with my studies, even though she complained that I did not spell well and did not learn my multiplication tables.

• Mom never provided us with books to read, other than inexpensive Golden Books and Reader’s Digest. She complained that I did not read, but never provided me with interesting reading material.

I learned to take care of myself.

Mom lived vicariously through me, wanting me to be everything she was not. Any ways that I differed from her, in values or in her sense of perfection, brought on her rage. She often said, I am just telling you this for your own good, or, I want you to learn from my mistakes, or, Do what I say, not as I do. She regularly reminded me that her suggestions were to make me a better person, and that she was telling me these things because she cared about me. However, I still felt inadequate and angry.

Nancy reacted to hearing this section with a sigh. She could remember those exact words, and they sent a shiver through her.

1971 TWO GAY KIDS!

Mom decided, correctly, that my brother Larry was gay, and she was extremely loving and supportive regarding this. She came out for him (announcing that she knew he was gay), when he was in his twenties, much to his relief. Mom was not upset nor angry, just proud that she had figured it out. She did express concern about how Dad would take the news, since she had always worried that he was not a strong influence on Larry. Mom joined PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) and got involved in their support group. She offered to call any new members who were Jewish, finding a way to be helpful. It was the only group she ever joined.

Mom often told me that she was relieved that it was her son who was gay, not her daughters. She worried that I might be gay too, asking repeatedly, You aren’t gay, are you? Initially I was insulted by this question. Years later, when my sexual orientation changed, I never admitted to her that she was right all along. Mom never asked my sister if she was a lesbian, and Mom never asked me once I was.

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CHAPTER TWO

NO TEARS WHEN MOM DIED

How could the Almost Perfect Mother elicit the title of No Tears When Mom Died in the very next chapter? What kind of a mother raised daughters who did not cry when she passed away? I will attempt to answer these questions in this difficult chapter.

The beginning of this chapter is written from my perspective as a young child in pain. (My life improved dramatically as I matured, so thankfully, this is not a book about sorrow and misery!) As you delve into my tale, you will learn about some intimate aspects of my mother, a woman who adored her children, and wanted the best for us. She had a great need to replicate her own values in her offspring, so she struggled as each of her children made their own choices. There will be hints of behaviors that seem like character flaws in Mom, but some of her behaviors may be the results of my grandmother’s limited parenting skills.

This part of my story begins with a sudden change in Mom’s personality. Just as I hit my preteens, Mom’s hormones shifted, and she became negative, controlling, and discontent. She was unintentionally harsh, though she gained no pleasure from being aggressive. This was happening while my own hormones shifted and I became hostile and discontent, as most pre-teens are prone to be. She could not handle my negativity and distrust, while she became full of her own angst.

Mom somehow found a way to express her love to the very same child she seemed to dislike. This made it complex to be her daughter. Mom wanted us to be wonderful people, but she did not know how to guide us. Despite her constant criticism and distrust, it was impossible for her to completely destroy our affection. I loved her, and I was simultaneously filled with deep-rooted hate and disgust.

I am certain that some of my resilience comes from the challenges I faced from a dominating mother who loved me angrily. I adjusted to the perplexing role of being her daughter. I also learned to turn experiences into lessons. After 65 years, I am able to finally admit the richness of some of the lessons Mom taught me. Now, I can finally give Mom credit, rather than just blame, for who I have become. I have her sparkle, but it was only through deliberate effort, that I did not inherit her bitterness. Despite it all, I loved her.

1957 MENOPAUSE AND PUBERTY COLLIDE

My perfect childhood came to a sudden and disturbing end one night when I was in fifth grade. It was when the convergence of my mother’s menopause and my puberty reached an alarming crescendo.

Mom went to a card game at her friend Florence’s house. Flo had a firm style with her three daughters. She made her daughters earn their allowances by washing the dishes and other household chores. Mom was convinced that she needed to take the same tactic with me.

When Mom got home that night, she woke me up from a sound sleep. This was something she had never done before. She announced her new plan: from now on, I was going to have a list of chores, and I would not get any privileges unless I had done everything expected of me. She let me go back to sleep, but not before announcing that life was about to change.

Mom’s support melted away in the face of demands, reprimands, and distrust. I began to feel that I could never please her. Menopause wreaked havoc with her emotions. I was overwhelmed by her shift in character.

Mom berated me constantly. She picked on my weaknesses and belittled me. You would forget your head if it wasn’t attached. You need to learn to live up to your potential changed to You are not living up to your potential. My mother’s insults became a constant burden, and life became miserable.

The summer I turned eleven, right after the fateful change, I went to overnight camp. I realized the first night at camp that I hadn’t cried all day— my first tearless day since Mom announced my life was about to change. I enjoyed my summer, but dreaded going back home.

Nothing had changed at home. When I got back from camp, Mom was still angry and disgusted with everything I did. She convinced me that I was a problem child. I felt worthless because I made many mistakes and had a horrible memory. I felt abnormal and ashamed of myself.

Several months after my time at camp, Mom insisted that I watch a television show with her about menopause. This was something that, as an 11-year-old, I’d never heard of. I learned that hormones caused the mood swings I witnessed in her. Mom never discussed the show with me. I have always been grateful that she made me watch it. (In retrospect, I hope that no other pre-teens going through their pre-pubescent rage have to deal with a mother going through menopause.)

Mom dealt with changes in her appearance that may also have contributed to her traumatic menopause. She stopped dying her hair. It turned completely white by the time I was in sixth grade. No other mothers with young children had old-lady hair. At this same time, Mom was fitted with false teeth, which changed how she looked and lowered her self-esteem. Though an attractive woman, her size meant that she could not wear the type of clothing that her peers wore.

Mom was probably lonely. She played bridge and Mah Jongg with other women. They typically shared their time and activities, but not intimacy. I suspect her card-playing companions saw bitterness behind her pleasantries, because none of them ever befriended her. Mom’s only real friend was Rozzie, who died before they had a chance to grow old together.

1959 DEALING WITH ADOLESCENT ANGST

By the time I was 12-years-old, Mom and I had a mutually contemptuous relationship. Most things about Mom annoyed me, as it is with most young teens. As Mom became more directive about how I should live my life, I told her less and less of my beliefs and my desires. She wanted so much to be a part of my growing up, but she distanced me by berating me about anything I shared with her. I was unable to hear anything positive or supportive. I feared that she wanted me to open up so she would have something else to complain about. She became desperate to engage me and I became equally desperate to avoid her. Mom had always said that she wanted a daughter so that we would sit around and drink coffee together. As a direct act of rebellion, I never had a cup of coffee.

Mom told white lies, such as telling someone she liked their dress, when she really hated it. She saw stretching the truth as a way to avoid hurting others. I found it extremely offensive that my mother insisted that I learn dishonesty. To me, it felt kinder to tell the truth than to tell a lie. I defied my mother, and I talked back to her when she attempted to teach me this lesson. Mom would always end the conversations with a raised eyebrow (her signature display of contempt) and the statement You always need to have the last word.

One of Mom’s white lies bothered me a great deal. During the Jewish holiday of Passover one year, mom bought a sponge cake, one of the few types of non-leavened cakes that can be made with matzo meal and is therefore acceptable during this holiday. I asked her if it was Kosher for Passover, and she told me it was. Later, I found the packaging and saw that it was not made for Passover. She had lied to me and I was furious.

Mom did not trust me. I felt overwhelmed when Mom accused me of behavior I did not do (I still have a deep reaction to being blamed for something of which I was innocent). She told me that she knew I smoked cigarettes because all kids experiment, and she raised my ire by commenting that I was no better than other kids. (I have never, to this day, had a cigarette.) When I was in high school, Mom once told me that she did not believe that I had gone to the movies. Instead, she was convinced that I had gone parking all evening with my boyfriend, Dick. This was something I never considered doing until she suggested it.

As a young teen, I angered easily and I frequently talked back to Mom. A few times she slapped me across the face because, in her view, I had gone too far. This came as a complete surprise to me. She never hit me as a child, so I was shocked when she hit me as a teenager. I still flush when I remember being slapped.

Mom had what she called a mother’s intuition. She would raise one eyebrow, and state something I had deliberately avoided sharing with her. She was usually correct because her senses were keen.

Any ways that I differed from Mom, in values or in her sense of perfection, brought on her rage. She often said, I am just telling you this for your own good, or, I want you to learn from my mistakes, or, Do what I say, not as I do. She regularly reminded me that her suggestions were to make me a better person, and that she was telling me these things because she cared about me. However, I still felt inadequate and angry.

1960 TEAMWORK

My brother, sister and I agreed to be allies in dealing with Mom. We realized that Mom would only target one of us at a time. She would complain to her