My Mom, the Sherpa

My Mom became an honorary Sherpa last week.

Okay...technically that might be stretching it a little bit, since her long gravel driveway and steep front yard are about as far from the Himalayan region as I am from ever being carded again at the wine and spirits store. But I think she deserves a loving hug (or twenty) because she was such a trouper during Pittsburgh's recent "snow-maggedon".

Wait. You say missed it? "Snow-pocalypse"? I'm really happy for you if you did. Honestly. Because right now I feel like starting a snowball fight with the snowplow man who has single-handedly built and rebuilt Mt. Dover (my street's name) at the end of my driveway, for almost 2 weeks now. I'm not mad at him - he's doing a really GREAT job of clearing everything else - just very, very sore. I should stop shoveling, hide my dogs' toys inside Mt. Dover, and let them dig right through just as they're doing in the back yard.....after they've returned from scaling the fence because the snow is so high.

But that's a different story. This, is about my Mom.

She is a trouper. This shouldn't surprise me because her Dad was a warm and strong Irish steelworker, and her Mom a gutsy, beautiful Ukranian...and ahead of her time. My Grandma was born in 1910, worked in a candy factory after high school, and moved to Washington D.C. at 19 to work as an administrator in a government agency. My Mom's extended family all seemed to have similar stories - nothing seemed to phase them. As my Grandpa used to say...."everyone's got to eat a peck of dirt before they die". And so they did.

My Mom was accomplished and independent at a young age. Maybe it was the combination of my grandparent's trust and her resourcefulness and determination, but as a pre-teen, my Mom would hop the trolley from McKeesport into Oakland for her Tam-O-Shanter art classes each week, and make her way without adult supervision for her other regular extra-curricular activities, too.

She quit her job at KDKA-TV after having her first child, and started to apply all of that creativity and resourcefulness to home and family. She did all of the typical Mom things. But she did it with gleaming gusto. My Mom created a warm and wonderful home, managed the finances, investments, car maintenance and repairs, and the schedules of three active girls. Plus, my Dad. She usually fed at least two extra kids who were at our house each day, and rescued our dog from whatever game we tried to involve him in. And, my Mom learned the little ins and outs of basic plumbing, gardening, landscaping, household repairs....she would've looked great in an appropriately feminine toolbelt, if she'd ever thought to get one. My Dad would've loved that, maybe even as much as he loved her legs!

During really snowy winters, she and my Dad took turns climbing the roof to shovel snow, and to steer our boat of a station wagon through nearly impassable South Hills roads to fetch us from school when the buses couldn't. Mom also made a very respectable snowman, wonderful snow angels, and the best hot chocolate and mac 'n cheese on snowy playdays. I don't remember what year, but one wicked January when we lost power for 3 or 4 days, my family moved to the basement with our sleeping bags, a pack or two of hot dogs, and wood for the fire we used to cook and for warmth. I have no idea how the poor dog managed his business, but we all managed just fine. And we had a blast.

So why did I worry so much when the recent storm zapped her home's power? Even though she managed all that? Even though I knew we'd "rescue" her and bring her to one of our homes?

Well, I didn't worry because she's faint-hearted, literally or figuratively. My Mom may look like a merry Irish elf, but she has a physical and emotional stamina that I hope I've inherited. She still manages the home and property we all moved to 38 years ago, volunteers with her parish and works all of their festivals, meets friends and relatives for monthly breakfasts and roadtrips, and flies to visit the high-school friends she's still very close to. And she does Zumba - which I haven't - she does yoga - which I haven't - and she does aerobics - which I've sworn off since a regrettable step-class incident a few years ago (that, is another story).

My Mom hasn't lost any of the ladylike gusto with which she has always approached her life. So maybe I worried because she has lost so much else, including my Dad three years ago. But she probably wouldn't see it that way. She'd say she's gained the enormous benefits of the experiences and relationships, not lost them.

So she lost her power and was "rescued", and stayed here til things at home started to hum again. She never got angry with Allegheny Power. Instead, for almost a week we hugged good morning and goodnight, read the paper, shared crosswords, drank lots of coffee, shared the pleasures of Steak 'n Shake (my Mom, an S & S virgin no more!), rubbed dogs' bellies, made big breakfasts and dinners and sipped way too much tawny port (her favorite), laughed about long-ago snow-mageddons, and giggled about her very cute Valentine's Day socks. And lots of other things. Really, we had a blast.

And when it was time to get her back home my Mom trekked through the two feet of snow still on her long gravel driveway - twice back and forth - inspected the house and the pipes, turned her water back on, and marveled that her car started right up. I think she could've hot-wired something if it hadn't. And driving home I realized I'd stopped worrying the minute we first showed up to liberate her from a freezing home, when she'd marched through all that snow to my car like Buddy the Elf, as though this was just another adventure to savor. With her Valentine's socks remembered, and packed.

So, my Mom lost her power. And I gained a week of dear experiences, and a deeper appreciation for her stamina and spirit.

Cheers to you, Mom. And thank you, Allegheny Power.