I didn’t think I could sit down & write about mom. I mean she’s my mom after-all so it’s kinda personal. What the hell. I have to share it. She’s going on 92. Born in New York City in 1924, she went to art school & lived with her parents ‘til she married my dad in 1948. Fast forward a lifetime to 2016. It’s hard to keep up with her. She’s either swimming, doing yoga, painting, headed to a show or she’s just seen the latest movie, the one I’ve wanted to see but haven’t had the time to. My friends meet her and then they become friends. She invites them to dinner, they hang out and later on I hear about what a great time they all had. Not to worry, sometimes she invites us (Kate & me) too.
So what is it that keeps her youthful? She’s got plenty of aches & pains that go with the territory, but there’s an uncanny ingredient here and I think I know what it is. She’s still a kid, a kid that simply refuses to grow up. Yeah, she grew up, but that rebellious kid is still there. She’s losing plenty of friends now. Her best friend from the Arts Student’s League of New York just passed. Her sister just passed, dear friends are well, dropping like flies. She says she sees it for what it is, the natural cycle of life. I wasn’t sure how she’d fare back in 2006 when dad died. They were inseparable for 58 years. After a time, she came into her own--started a portrait business, got a dog, made new friends and exhibited her artwork. I gotta say it. My mom, Ethel Harvey, is an inspiration to us all, to keep that inner child, stay a little rebellious and carry on.
There. I’ve said it.