Today would have been my Mom’s 85th birthday, which explains the memories that have lately popped in my head. I smile when I realize my childhood was anything but conventional.

We grew up hearing stories of how difficult her life was so that we, too, would work hard and excel.

Mom was a farm girl, so she knew hard work and expected the same from her children. This was demonstrated by many things, but mostly by her joy of gardening. Our backyard was a jungle of flowers, vegetables and fruits that took a half-day to water. Well into her 70’s, she didn’t think twice about carrying a 40-pound bag of manure to a flowerbed. There’s no question as to why Sandy and I garden and use Mom’s hints, including the use of jars as hot houses to start a new rose or two.

Mom’s toughness was instilled in us where health issues were concerned as well. Home remedies included applying or ingesting vinegar, wodka, Vernor’s Ginger Ale or rubbing alcohol as health-giving ingredients. Chamomile tea and antibiotics cured everything. Only when you were half-dead, were you taken to the doctor.

Vinegar deserved a special place in our pantry, or under the kitchen sink, as in our house, which always smelled like vinegar. Mom used it to clean. It was used medicinally for anything from hiccups to headaches. The whole month of August was canning season, and again, more vinegar. Many of Mom’s recipes called for vinegar, (pig’s feet was drenched in the stuff; homemade pickles, salad dressings and even her pie crust got a dash of it).

When we complained about some of the Polish delicacies we were served (tripe soup, pig feet or cow tongue), we didn’t hear, “there are children starving in China.” We instead heard, “If you don’t like your food, go to Mexico!” I’m not sure where this came from…Mom never visited Mexico. Perhaps she watched a Cinco De Mayo special on her favorite channel, The Food Network, and thought the dishes were unappetizing? I don’t know.

If she dropped a utensil, an unexpected visitor was expected. A knife indicated a male visitor; a spoon meant a female. If you dropped a fork, it meant a couple. Everyone entering our home, including neighbors, repairmen and mail carriers were fed. You weren’t asked if you’d like seconds (or thirds), it just appeared on your plate. There was no helping yourself and it was good manners (and a nod to the cook) to eat everything on your plate.

We were taught to mind our manners. You wouldn’t dare call your elder by “you” or by their first name. You always used “Pan” (Mr.) or “Pani” (Miss/Mrs.) preceding their first name. Close family friends were your extended family. They were referred to as aunts, uncles and cousins and were also considered company. We were adults before we realized more than half of our relatives weren’t related to us!

When company was expected, the house was cleaned (including washing the doors), meals were planned, mismatched chipped dishes were put away and we were dressed appropriately. Guests were always honored. I recall an event (Sandy’s birthday or First Communion), where she sat on an upturned bucket, while our cousins had chairs.

Mom and Dad had no debt and always paid cash. Sometimes a loan was taken from friends but paying off the loan was a priority. Banks were not there for loans; they were there to save money and earn interest. At a very early age we received our first bank account and were taught to save our money. We weren’t allowed to spend a cent of it until we moved out (and you didn’t move out until you had enough money for your own house or you were getting married).

Mom was fiercely independent. She was well into her 30’s and hadn’t completely grasped the English language when she tested for and received her driver’s license. She followed most of the laws but hit the gas pedal like a NASCAR racer. Braking was pretty hard and fast as well.

Polish mothers, including my own, overdress their children so they don’t become ill. I used to say, “If I was going to hell, Mom would insist I take a sweater”.

We spoke Polish at home and learned complicated pronunciations of last names so English tongue twisters to us were very easy. Mom had a Polish tongue twister that we were never able to master.

If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. This is typical motherly advice given to her children. In our house we had a mix. Some advice was typical. Other advice was, well, let’s say different.

• I hope when you grow up, you have kids just like you! (Also known as “the mother’s curse”). In the same vein: “Just you wait until you have kids of your own—I hope they treat you as badly as you treat me”.
• Don’t sit on concrete. You’ll get a kidney infection. It’s not true according to Snopes.com.
• Do everything in moderation. Mom often told us of a little girl in the “old country” that was fed so many carrots her skin turned orange. This is one that really sticks with me, (with the exception of my egg cup overload).
• Never throw bread in the garbage. Bread symbolizes the body of Christ and is considered sacrilegious to dispose of it irreverently. Our bread went to the birds. My sister and I both continue to follow this rule

Later in life, we received this kind of advice:

• Don’t shit where you sleep. This was not “save the planet” advice. This meant you should not cause any trouble in a place you regularly frequent (school, work or a relative’s home).
• On a date, keep a dime in your shoe. In case you have to flee suddenly without your jacket or purse, you had a dime to phone for help.

• Never buy shoes for your boyfriend or husband, because he’ll walk out of your life. I took this to heart until I was married 25 years and figured he wasn’t walking anywhere.
• Never put your elderly relatives in a nursing home. They’re not supposed to be a burden. They’re family and the Polish take care of family no matter what. Don’t argue.
• Pork likes salt. Obviously, cooking advice that produces outstanding chops, roasts and kielbasa.

By the time I had children of my own, I knew being a mom was tough business. Mom had advice on child rearing:

• Take a nap when the baby naps. (Yes, good advice.)
• Babies need water. (Mom suggested something sweet like honey or Karo syrup, to encourage the baby to drink more water. Not a good idea, considering honey causes botulism in babies and Karo Syrup causes high triglycerides and future cavities.)

• Don’t pick up the baby every time he cries. You’ll spoil him. (I took this advice for about 10 minutes. I remember hearing Bryce heartily crying in the nursery. I planned to hold my ground and let him cry himself to sleep. I felt like the worse Mom on the planet. When I checked on him and found his arm tangled in the spindles of the cradle, which led me to disregard this particular piece of advice.)
• Keep the baby’s head covered at all times. (If you walked past the baby too fast, the breeze you created would be enough for Mom to cover the baby’s ears and scream “get a hat!”. My poor Bryce wore babushkas more than grandmothers on the Russian Front.)

My brother, Ray, the only boy, received entirely different advice:

• If someone picks a fight, you should say, “what a nice shirt!” to divert the ruffian’s attention as you ran.
• No matter what, finish college. (Mom believed you couldn’t make a living being a writer, photographer, musician, actor or athlete even if you showed her a million dollar paycheck with the exception of my brother who became, and continues to be, a news columnist/reporter.)

• Spit and catch it. (Her advice to him when he claimed boredom.)

These are just some of the things I have learned from Mom, who selflessly and always took care of others. She is the inspiration behind our becoming decent and good.

I miss her….

Happy Birthday, Mom! Sto Lat!