The Ballad of Betty and Bob

Mom's 25 year marriage to my Dad was an important part of her life, and I can't write about her without writing about that.  My Parents had a good, balanced relationship, based on mutual respect, a common background, and a sharp sense of humor.  Dad had a more quiet character, but could make his opinions known with a few well chosen words, or a raised eyebrow.  Mom was far more flamboyant and emotional, but even she could be stopped in her tracks by a look from Dad. 

At times, I saw Dad ( "Bob") as George Burns or Ricky Ricardo to Mom's Gracie Allen or Lucy.  He was the straight man, and Mom was the comic.  Mom could get herself in some terrible situations, and Dad had to come to her rescue.  One night, after we children were in bed, Dad fell asleep on the sofa, and Mom decided to go into the basement, and pull lint out of the dryer.  Instead, she got her arm stuck in the lint tube at the rear of the dryer.  She called, and called, and her sleeping husband finally heard her, and came down to see Mom laying on the basement floor, with her arm in the dryer.  He suggested  calling the Fire Department, but Mom, having the lace curtain Irish fear of publicity, refused.  So, he got the next door neighbor, Mr. Navarro, who was a mechanic, and used a bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil to get Mom's arm free.

Give Mom credit for telling the story on herself.  I also give Dad props for not laughing at her. Dad usually defused her anxities about children or pets with a well placed quip.  When Mom and Dad rented a house in Monmouth Beach, NJ, we brought along our Beagle, Sniffy.  One Sunday afternoon, as we came back from Mass, Sniffy ran out the front door, and raced down the street.  She returned within ten minutes, proudly carrying a box of pizza in her mouth.  Mom was horrified, and I heard her say to Dad " Oh, Bob, the neighbors will say 'those awful people from New York City don't feed their dog--she has to steal food".  Dad replied 'Not when they get a second look at her"  Sniffy was very plump, from getting fed our unwanted dinners, and stealing cookies from my younger Sister, who was only 4 that Summer.

Humor was the key to their marriage.  They could make each other laugh.  Mom once told the story of being a very young Mother, and complaining passionately to Dad " and I'm sick of being the perfect wife and mother", to which he said in a deadpan voice " who said you were perfect?  I never did".  Lucky for him that Mom thought it funny, and burst out laughing.

Another time, when I was in high school, and reading a translation of the Orestia, I asked my parents if they ever read it.  Mom said "when I attended New Rochelle (college) I read the Gilbert Murray translation."  Dad said a bit pompously " at Holy Cross, I read it in the original language" to which Mom said sweetly "yes, dear, but I understood what I was reading".  Game set and match for Betty.

She was devastated when he died in 1979--from an inoperable brain tumor.  She missed him, and it must have been painful to have the years pass, see two of her daughters marry, have children.  I'm glad they are together in Heaven, making each other laugh.

I Never Sang for my Mother

Mother sang for us:  her daughters and husband, on long car trips.  When I was a child, I liked the singing on the ride home.  I remember being sleepy, and hearing Mom in the front seat, singing some song from the Big Band era, Broadway shows, Bobby Darin, Peggy Lee, but only a few Sinatra songs.  ( She did an operatic version of ' Climb E'vry Mountain" which I and my sisters endured as children)

When my sisters and I became teenagers, we were less than thrilled with Mom's singing.  We wanted to hear the latest song by the Beatles or the Monkees on the car radio, not 'Flat Flat Floogey with the Floy Floy"  or "Artificial Flowers" by Bobby Darin.  Each of us protested against these concerts in our own way; after all, we were a captive audience.

Mary Pat and Cathy, who were more quiet and polite, would ask " Dad, could you please turn on the radio"?  Ginny and I, who were the free spirits, usually started to sing with Mom, but in out of key voices, which must have made a god awful racket.  Mom had a lovely, warm contralto voice, but Ginny and I tried to sound like cats in heat.  Several times, Dad pulled the car over to the side of the road and proclaimed " This car is not moving until you all shut up". 

When I went to college, I tried to reason with Mom.  Once, when we were driving up to a friend's house in the Adirondacks, she began singing ' The New Ashmolean" during a violent thunderstorm.  At the end of the song, I began my cross examination:

Peggy:  why are you singing that song?
Mom:  It's your Father's favorite; it brings tears to his eyes
Peggy:   perhaps it's not a good idea to sing it while he's driving.

Another time, after she warbled 'Artifical Flowers"  I pointed out " your husband is a retail florist.  Isn't it a bit disloyal to sing about Artificial Flowers?".

There were unseen benefits to Mom's singing.  By the time I entered college, and joined the choir, I had a good ear for music.  It must have been all those car trips, listening to most of the Johnny Mercer song catalog.  Mom knew all of his songs, even the minor ones, such as 'It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud".  Once, my nephew, at the age of 4, fell down the steps of his house, and had to be rushed to the doctor.  David entertained the waiting room by singing " It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud". When my Sister told Mom, Mom said " it's a good thing you moved to Dutchess County; imagine if you still lived in New York City". 

Music helped ease Mom's passage from this world to the next.  We had a CD player, and played all her favorites in her room:  Darin, Peggy Lee, Johnny Mercer, etc.  There were times when she could nod along to the music and smile.  I'm glad that I learned to appreciate her singing, and hope she gets to sing in Heaven.

'Jesus, Mary and Joseph"

That was my Mom's favorite exclamation, probably inherited from my paternal Grandfather, John Regan.  Mom usually called on the Holy Family when she was driving the car:  'Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that idiot nearly hit me"  or "Jesus Mary and Joseph.  Who gave him a driver's license"?  After my Grandfather died, and Mom was driving my Dad up to his florist shop, ( I was in the back seat) she invoked the Holy Family, and Dad said " Your Father will never be dead as long as you are behind the wheel of a car".  Mom replied in her most regal tones " I consider that a compliment".

But my favorite Invocation of The Holy Family occurred in St. Martin, in the winter of 1974.  We rented two rooms in a beachfront Hotel--one for Parents, the other for us children.  After a day at the beach, we went back to the hotel to change for dinner.  Cathy and I, being younger, finished changing first and  returned to our Parents' room for soda and snacks.  We got a floor show that night.

Mom had the idea of hanging her shift dress on the balcony to air it out.  She was getting dressed, while we sipped our Cokes, and suddenly shouted " Jesus Mary and Joseph.  Bob, it's on me; get it off".  Cathy and I didn't know what 'it' was--we were doubled over laughing.  When we got our breath back, I saw there was a small Gecko lizard on her arm.  Mom was shouting 'ooh-ooh, while Dad, biting on his lips, was saying 'it's all right; it's OK.  Finally, Dad caught the lizard, and went to throw it outside.  Mom called after him "don't hurt it, Bob, just get rid of it".  

Sense and Sensibility

When I look at my childhood, and my life with Mom, I realize Mom had more sensibility than sense.  Part of this can be attributed to my maternal Grandma.  Grandma was a Lady of English/Irish ancestry, and she raised her daughters ( Aunt Lucille and Mom) to be Irish American Ladies.  Due to her education, Mom became a combination of Princess Grace and Gracie Allen.  No amount of lady like training could eradicate her zany streak.  Sometimes, her gentility bordered on eccentricity.

Take 'The Case of the Missing Doorknob"  When I was 10 or 11, Mom took me to see a local cardiologist who lived in an old, slightly shabby house.  ( I had open heart surgery in 1962, and went for an annual check up).  It was a normal visit until we left.  Mom turned to close the front door, and the door handle came off in her hand.  I began laughing so hard, my eyes watered.  Mom hissed at me 'be quiet.  Suppose he hears you and comes outside??"  So I stifled my laughter, and we slunk away from the house.

After dinner that night, Mom told Dad what happened, saying " Bob, I really think I should offer to replace  the doorknob".  Dad asked ' what did he charge for the visit?" so Mom got the bill from her handbag.  Dad carefully read the bill, raised one eyebrow ( his typical reaction to Mom 's outbursts ) and said 'he can afford to replace it himself".  Mom burst out laughing.  I think they had a good relationship, because Dad and Mom knew how to make each other laugh.

Elizabeth Virginia Evelyn Regan Michaels: 8/4/1926-3/7/2012

Mom  died last month, and this is the first day I have felt strong enough to begin writing about her.  I want to share her life with people, because we had such wonderful stories to tell at her wake.  Mom received an excellent education--she was the first Grandchild of Irish immigrants to graduate from College ( and her Parents were proud, but being good Irish Americans, never told her)  She then earned a Masters' Degree in Speech Education from Teachers' College, Columbia University.

As you can imagine, Mom was a very articulate woman, but rarely made declarative statements.  She had been imbued with the Socratic Method, perhaps by the Ursuline Sisters at the College of New Rochelle, and chose to ask a question, rather than make a direct remark.  The title of this blog is Mom's pet phrase whenever she saw a bug, and wanted to tell you " is that what I think it is?"  Her daughters would look at the offending object and either say 'yes' or 'no'.  It was far simpler to say 'yes' because in her later years, if you said it was not a bug, she would want to argue the point all afternoon.

My Dad, Bob Michaels, was also subjected to Mom's Socratic Method, although there was never anything methodical in the way she applied it.  On car rides, she would ask ' did you see that truck?" and he would answer ' well, I didn't hit it, did I?"  Or, she would be sitting next to Dad in the front seat, and remark 'Bob, do we have to go this fast?".  He usually fibbed and said he was not speeding.  Mom just did not like coming to the point of anything, feeling that aggression was a sign of being lower class, and unladylike.

Even her driving was indirect.  Mom would only make right hand turns, and wherever she went, it had to be by way of 83rd Street in Bay Ridge, because that was the only street with a traffic light.  We would even travel to Massachusetts or Vermont by way of 83rd Street.  It was Mom's own Appian Way, or the Great North Road.  As a college student, I dubbed her 'Betty Euclid' as a sarcastic reference to the rule that a straight line was the shortest distance between two points.  Mom would never have taken a straight line or direction if her life depended on it.   When we took our family vacation to Ireland in 1976, I'm surprised she did not make the Limo driver head to JFK by way of 83rd Street.

As Mom aged, I would often accompany her to the doctors' office.  Once , she had an appointment with her orthopedic surgeon, for a check up after hip surgery.  Dr. W asked her "Mrs. Michaels, how far do you walk every day?" and she replied to the effect that she did not know.  He asked 'Can you walk 5 blocks?" and she said " Oh, I could never walk that far" to which he snapped " I did not ask how far you couldn't walk; I asked how far you could.  Your answers are vague, indefinite and not at all helpful.  ( at that point, I bit the inside of my cheek so I would not laugh aloud--Dr. W was English, and reminded me of Simon Cowell.  I don't think he got a concrete answer from her)

I do miss her, but know Mom had a good life, and is at peace in the next life.