Sisters and Daughters

Funny how mismatched people can seem.

Aunt Zelma, Nana's younger sister, was a tiny slip of a thing, barely 4'6 while her husband stood well over 6' and could've easily slung her over one shoulder and carried her off if he'd had a mind to. They were married over 60 years and produced only one child, my cousin Elaine, who in many ways resembled my own mother physically. They were close in age and got along well most of the time - both came from domineering mothers and both were driven half crazy by their children and husbands. Both smoked and loved card playing, were married to men their complete opposites, had never worked and were hopeless gossips and only children. By the time they were in their late 50's, they were both white haired, considerably heavier, and often mistaken for sisters.

Elaine lived in upstate New York in an immaculately kept almost sterile, newly built house on a dead end street.The home was clean lines and no clutter - hardwood floors which she kept to a brilliant shine, contemporary furnishings and huge, flowing plants in ceramic vases for accents. A piano sat squarely in the center of the living room, a shiny new upright that she dusted and polished daily. She recycled religiously, newspapers and magazines, rinsed out aluminum cans, plastic ware and glass bottles. Once a month she took down all the cream colored mini blinds and washed them in bleach, dried them with a hair dryer and rehung them. Long before it was fashionable or even easily available, she had solar panels installed in the roof to offset the cost of winter heating oil. Her two adopted children were well behaved, respectful and neat and her only concession to chaos was a small chihuahua with the unfortunate name of Tinkle.

Still, each summer, she and her family joined us on the island where life flowed gently and at a different pace. There were many hands to make light the chores and Elaine spent her time reading and walking along the rocky coast, collecting shells and watching tidepools. In the evenings she and my mother played cards or dominos or scrabble, sitting on the sunporch and laughing to themselves while their mothers sat inside with knitting or books. She was a good influence on my mother, my grandmother used to say, a grown up influence with common sense and good judgement, raised well. My Aunt Zelma would smile and nod and say nothing - she recognized dangerous ground and avoided it whenever possible.

These four women, for all their differences, were remarkable alike and could form an unbreakable alliance when necessary. My mother was calmer and more relaxed with them than at any other time, more comfortable than at home, more predictable and good natured. When their month on the island was up, she said a teary goodbye and I thought it might've been genuine regret to see them go. Nana was saddened but practical - she would miss them but was glad to have her house back as she had never been able to abide the saucy little chihuahua. She and my mother went to their separate corners and life resumed.

As I grew up, I watched this foursome come together and then drift apart summer after summer. We would be at war in June, followed by a July at peace, then back to war in August. In one form or another, the strange and often volatile dynamics of mothers and daughters played out all summer long.