In a swimsuit much like Mother's
National Velvet convinced me my mom could ride horses and should, therefore, buy me one. For reasons I completely get now, that didn’t go over so well.
Both born in 1932, my mom and Liz led somewhat parallel lives in that married-a-whole-buch-of-times-with-loads-of-drama sort of way, so even when I grew old enough to read headlines it would occasionally be confusing.
They also looked very much alike … two brunette, busty beauties skilled in grand entrances that drew the eye of every man in the room.
I distinctly recall walking down Market Street in San Francisco shortly after Butterfield 8 opened and seeing Ms. Taylor’s face looming large from posters outside cinemas and thinking, “That could be Mom.”
Of course, my mother was not a movie star, simply a suburban housewife spending her time giving me Toni home perms and sewing up pjs and playsuits for me and my brothers, but that didn’t seem … to me … to impact negatively on her glamour one bit. I can still conjure an image of her strolling into the Steinhart Aquarium in Golden Gate Park in a skin-tight black and white sheath dress, high heels and a HUGE hat as my brother and I checked out the crocodiles and all the men in the place checked out my mom.
I wasn’t allowed to see many of the films Liz starred in until I was old enough to have made the jump necessary to know the difference between the woman who’d married Richard Burton and the one who’d divorced my dad, so it took a while to catch up to the cultural assessment that had one a world famous celeb and the other just my mother, but the blend continued nonetheless.
Now Elizabeth Taylor is dead and my mom is not well. Both lived. Both aged. Both did life in the way that life must be done.
I love you, Mom, and, Liz … I thank you for sharing yourself and adding to my childhood confusion.
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 
Moms have an indelible impression!
boy howdy were our childhoods different. mine had almost no TV at all. the only zoo was in Topeka, KS. the tiny little downtown commercial area was completely devoid of even a single cultural icon. My Mother was clean and proper, but never anything approaching glamorous.
RIP Liz
mmmmmmmmmmmmm I do not why, but I simply loved this piece… just felt… warm… and I could see it play it out in front of me…
Btw. I have question for you at the end of my comment on narc, kills 😉
Glad you like, Bobby.
Question? I saw one on your comment on “Illusions … ” which began with a stifled laugh. It that what you’re referring to?
oh yes I am.. sorry got my blogs crossed hehe
So … does that mean you’re looking for an answer?
of course I am !!! and you know that very well… I am always looking for answers :p
Well … in this case you’ll have to keep looking, as am little inclined to illuminate further. ;-p
And why is that?
It’s Lent, Dude …
Liz certainly lived a full life. 8 Weddings and she says she never slept with anyone she wasn’t married to. I’m wondering why I have great difficulty believing that!
Lovely tribute to both Liz and your mother, Sandra.
Thanks, Robyn.
When we were in high school, I always thought of your mom as just your mom. A wonderful one, for sure, but I was so young, and recklessly rushing toward being a ‘real woman’ instead of being just a girl, I never really gave your mom’s appearance much thought. Now of course, I realize your mother was a young and beautiful woman. But the best part is, she was, and still is, a beautiful human being. She is a remarkable woman. And so is her daughter.
A lovely tribute to Elisabeth Taylor and your mom. Thanks.
I was well over the confusion by the time I hit high school, V.
And, thank you. Missing you these days, by the way …