Gingham: Fading into my genetics

While I was growing up, my mother loved gingham – I dare say she still does – and you could easily tell that she did. In our kitchen in Rome, NY, she had red gingham everything: curtains, place mats, a serving tray, mugs (with cute animals on them), among many other things. For this reason, I came to dislike gingham almost as much as she loved it, though I’m sure the contrasting yellow walls in that micro-sized kitchen didn’t help much.

Slowly though, I came to have a more accepting feeling about gingham. I mean, come on, if Dorothy can rock the blue gingham, it can’t be that bad of a pattern (thanks to my mom, I’ve even had a Dorothy costume in the works for several years now).

And today, I think I turned the corner. I bought a faded-mint-green long-sleeved button-up collared gingham shirt (for $5, mind you). I think it will look really cute over a white t-shirt or tank-top. But the point is that though I can’t quite imagine wearing (or buying) red gingham, I’ve become quite fond of the pattern in other more subtle colors. In fact, it creates an interesting feeling of nostalgia when I see most gingham.

And this is just one of several things about myself that I’ve noticed over the past two to five years that makes me laugh as I realize how much I’m becoming like my mother.

1) I take longer than I’d like to get out of a vehicle when I’ve arrived at my destination: gathering the items I’d like to take with me or taking out of my purse those items I’d rather leave behind.
2) I often run late – a trait of hers that I’m less fond of, but that I forgive her of since it is understandable. If it is important to arrive on-time, I tell my mom that the “start” time is about a half-hour beforehand – it usually does the trick.  And now, well, I set the “start” time on my iCal to about 15-20 minutes before I need to be there, especially for an appointment.
3) I love purple. This actually seems to be something for which I’m genetically predisposed; most of the women in my family – at least on my mom’s side – loved purple. It does seem that the older I get, the more purple there is in my wardrobe at least. I am also becoming more fond of green – my grandma Mütter’s favorite – albeit not all varieties, as I get older.
4) I ramble. Ugh. Granted, I don’t have the same ability to recall painstaking details, but the rambling seems to get worse as I get older. So far I’m able to catch myself after a bit, but I do think that there will come a day when I’m less able to.
5) I carry too much in my purse! I think I’ve transformed my purse into a bag, actually. I even bought my current one to replace my canvass bag that I used to carry around when I went out. I like to have my water bottle and wallet with me, minimally, and hate to carry more than one thing. Until recently I didn’t even carry a bag and would just carry my wallet, which I still do from time to time. However, it seems that more and more keeps creeping into my purse.

I’m sure there are more things… but five is a good start. And, well, if I’m blessed enough to have these traits – not all of which are undesirable – perhaps I’ll be blessed enough to inherit her more admirable traits, the ones that took me nearly 30 years to recognize and some that took her nearly 60 years to develop: compassion, creativity, generosity, humor, courage, strength, faith, determination, adaptability, and inner-beauty. She’s an amazing woman who I love dearly and I’m proud to call her my mom.

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3 Responses to Gingham: Fading into my genetics

  1. Jeremiah says:

    What a touching (and humorous) tribute. I hope your mom gets to see this.

    • crista says:

      Thanks! You certainly experience a lot of these transformations and realizations! So thank you for tolerating them and laughing with/at me. =)

      • Feb. 28, 2012 I already had wet eyes – sunlight to the left of library window. Do you have an extra tissue? Some you read to me — the last part I read twice and before finishing the second read, my eyes were drowning and a tear rolled down my cheek. Thanks for the memories! Did it really take 60 years?

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