Love Deine Mutti

Moms are a funny thing. At least mine is. I can’t think of a single relationship in my life that is more complex, convoluted, and packed with a complete range of emotions (and then some) than the one I have with my mother. Many of the things that drove me crazy about her when I was a child still do. But for the most part, I can brush those things off with some perspective—and sense of humor, especially when I see those same things in myself. Then there are the things that I’ve learned to embrace in a whole new way. Some things really do get better with age.

For example, my mom is beyond old school—she’s old world. As a young woman, she left her war-torn country after the Second World War. Like many who experience great loss, my mother has her ways of holding on to the past—nostalgic and old-fashioned are only a few ways to describe her. (Please call her Mrs. Peterson if you meet her.) One of those ways has to do with technology. What was available then is still just as good now. Mom lives without a computer or cable TV. It’s only been recently (within the last decade) that she gave up her rotary phone for a touch tone (and even then it took her a while to use the “machine” that would allow for people to record messages when she couldn’t answer). And as far as what her daughter does, she doesn’t totally understand, but she’ll tell people, “it has something to do with the computer.” Obviously, email is out of the question. Even phone calls are too extravagant. When it comes to communicating, mom uses the tried-and-true method of letter writing.

The letters are usually predictable: the cards have cute baby animals or wildflowers on them and say things like, “Hang in there” or “Thinking of You” or “Just a Little Note.” The messages are often predictable, too: news about the weather, stories about her pets, health updates about her teeth or feet or random ailments. And then there are the words of wisdom. My mother is a fan of cliché sayings of comfort, like the sun will always come out tomorrow. There was a time when that was exactly the kind of thing I didn’t want to hear. Now, I read a bit more between the lines. The letters have become a kind of fortune cookie for me, each one sure to have some little treat or thought to take away.

Like my mom, I’ve come to be nostalgic about a few things, and keeping her letters has been one of them. It doesn’t take much to get a little dose of mom when I can open a random letter and find something that will inevitably give me that fortune cookie smile.

Sometimes, it’s a simple reminder of paying attention to the small details:

I was walking in the rain the other day, a lady in her car stopped and wanted to give me her umbrella.