Helen Lorraine Watson was born in the small fishing village of Northport on the Long Island Sound. She loved her hometown and spoke of it often when she was alive.
Hers was a difficult childhood. She was born to Ruth Alma Ruland Watson and Edwin Watson in 1923, 17 years younger than her brother Eddie. She had a younger sister, Ruthie, who never made it past her fifth birthday. As I recall (and I'll ask my sisters to correct me), poor Ruthie died of uremic poisoning.
I'm not crystal clear on some of the dates and ages, but when she was 8 or 9 she was hit by a truck and went in to a coma. At age 10 or 11, the apartment where she and her parents lived burned down. At age 11 or 12, her beloved dad died. I seem to recall his death was attributed to stomach ulcers, but looking back on it, it might have been stomach cancer. At this point, the year would have been 1934 or 1935, the depth of the Depression.
Her mom had some kind of deal with the Works Progress Administration wherein she provided lunch for WPA workers. The men would come to her kitchen and she'd provide soup and sandwiches.
She talked a bit about visiting relations who had no electricity or indoor plumbing. She talked about studying by kerosene lamp. She also talked about an elderly relative who had been a shipbuilder. They had to lift their legs at high tide. A final memory she shared from that time was kissing the corpse of one of her relatives who passed away.
My mom was active in the Methodist Church. She sang in the choir and participated in the Methodist Youth Fellowship--activities I took on as a teenager.
Her best friend was Muriel Tiernan, a girl of Irish descent. My mom spoke so often of Muriel, I found it curious that she lost touch with her.
Her best memories of high school were studying French. She wasn't particularly fluent, but she sure liked the idea of French.
After high school in 1941, she went to work for Grumman Aircraft in Beth Page, New York.
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| Photo from http://www.bethpagecommunity.com/community/woman_grumman |
She considered herself a New Yorker first, last and always. As far as she was concerned, there was no greater city on this earth than New York City. She told my sisters and me many stories about going in to the city as a young woman. One of my favorite tales concerned bumping in to Eleanor Roosevelt on one of Manhatten's busy streets. According to her, she and her friend, flustered, said "We're so sorry Mrs. Roosevelt." To which she replied, "Think nothing of it, my dears."
She met my dad at a roller skating rink on Long Island. He was three years her junior, but he could pick out a beauty. She found him very annoying (as did we all), but she admired his intellect greatly (as did we all), and she recognized a decent person in him (as did we all).
They married in 1950, just after my dad turned 24.
We moved from Cambridge, Mass. to Lawrence, Kansas where my sister Wendy came along in 1958. We lived there a scant two years, and then we moved on to Tucson, Arizona where my sister Nancy was born in 1961.
I think Tucson was a major culture shock for my mother. It was so very different from what she'd known. She found the informality of western life really disconcerting. I can't imagine the adjustment she had to make. Tucson was so hot. I remember the day we moved to town, the temperature was 117. I also remember seeing photos in the newspaper featuring people frying eggs on the sidewalk.
Poor dear, she was pregnant, new to town, and having to enroll her oldest in school. The new house had three bedrooms and an enormous lot. It was all too much for her. We had asparagus, blackberries, figs, peaches, apricots, pomegranates and mulberries. It was a really beautiful garden. Unfortunately, neither my mother nor dad had any skill when it came to tending these wonderful plants. They all slowly died away.
My mom didn't drive when we were little girls. That made for some interesting challenges. We used to go grocery shopping as a family at the El Rancho grocery market (now Bookman's for Tucsonans in the know). I remember sampling the parsley (it was free), and begging my dad to buy a new Mad Magazine.
In the summer, we used to prey upon my dad to take us to Austen's Ice Cream parlor (Broadway and Country Club). My mom loved pineapple shakes and butter pecan ice cream. It was such a treat.
My mom used to walk with her little girls all over town. My sister Wendy contracted Valley Fever when she was a toddler. My mom would be walking with Nancy in the stroller and Wendy at her side, only for Wendy to fall to the ground in a slump. She had the amusing habit of falling into a sleep while we played together.
My sister Linda and I used to share going to concerts with my dad and mom. My mom always looked so pretty when she dressed up to go out on the town.
My mom used to bake cakes and cupcakes for various celebrations at school. That's something that doesn't happen today.
My mom volunteered as a Girl Scout leader because she felt that scouting was a worthwhile activity. She encouraged us to go to Girl Scout camp. She took us on hikes and other scouting activities.
She taught Sunday School because she thought it was important to have a faith tradition.
She encouraged us to learn and to explore crafts. She tried to teach us to sew and to cook. Only one of us really took to it (Wendy).
She often made us Halloween costumes--some were more successful than others. The point is, she tried.
She read to us when we were little, and inspired a lifelong love of reading in each of us. She loved books and she loved stories. She joined the book of the month club and often gave books as gifts. I've taken that to extremes in my own life.
She really worked so hard to expand our horizons.
Going to Europe in 1972 (the year I graduated high school) was a mixed bag for her. She loved being in England, but Germany was a challenge for her. She and I took German as a Second Language classes. It was one of only a few times I felt she and I connected as adults. I think she was glad of the experience, but I think she felt somewhat isolated.
She was always searching for ways we could connect, but it was difficult to find points of intersection. She'd always have schemes, or plans for the two of us to work on projects together. I know I disappointed her repeatedly. I regret that.
Distance made communication difficult for us. We spoke weekly on the phone, but there were 2,000 miles separating us.
Once she and dad had an empty nest, they each took on new artistic pursuits. Dad started piano lessons, and mother started to paint.
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| This was one of her first efforts. We call it "The Rocky Desert", aka, "The Smoking Cactus." |
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| She had a real nostalgia for the eastern part of the U.S. This was a painting of her imagination. |
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| This was her painting of Navaho country. |
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| This was one of her last paintings--and in my humble opinion, one of her best. |
She did get to plan my youngest sister's wedding; we all referred to it as "Ma's wedding." We were glad of that.
She came to be with me after Leah was born, and that was lovely. She loved spoiling her grandkids.
Her illness and her death were terrible blows to my entire family. Before she went in to the hospital, she ironed my dad's chinos, and froze dinners for him. To say he was lost when she died would not be an understatement.
I did get to visit her once more before she died. It was a bittersweet meeting. She often visited my dreams after she died.
I regret so much not spending more time with her and not asking her enough questions. It is too late now, and I find myself wondering about so many questions regarding her life.
She was a good woman.
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