My mother is the kind of mother who gardens, volunteers, and swims in the lake, not the kind who throws cocktail parties, loves shopping, and has to put on her face. When I was a kid, there were times I wished she had more girly things, like makeup and perfume I could try on. She's never even had her ears pierced. She's Birkenstocks and library books, not high heels and Cosmopolitan. (So am I, but I didn't know that then.) So I remember being very excited when once a month an older lady at church who subscribed to Chatelaine would give my mom the magazine after she'd read it. (It was always rolled up, with a piece of string tied around it.) I don't even remember ever seeing my mom read it, but I'd pore over the fashion spreads and ads and articles about marital problems, women's health issues, and being a good hostess. (In the back there was even a column called "Ask a Sex Therapist"! Shh.)
I had forgotten about Chatelaine until I read this story about its new editor. But that rolled up magazine was often a big part of this Canadian girl's Sunday afternoons -- after eating toasted cheese sandwiches (with tomatoes in the summer and pickles in the winter) and listening to "Gilmour's Albums" on CBC.
I miss my sensible, no-frills mom. Hi Mom! See you in seven or eight weeks. xo
Friday, June 25, 2004