I didn’t see or talk to my mother yesterday. Mother’s Day just isn’t something we do. Or I suppose, it is more accurate to say, it isn’t something she does. I enjoyed brunch with my teen. We talked about music and romance in the beautiful sunshine. A bouquet of brightly colored flowers adorns my dining table now. My Mother’s Day was quite lovely.
I did think about my mom yesterday. I thought about how she’s always up for anything. She’ll go to a movie just because you suggest it without knowing a thing about what she’s about to watch. Sometimes that doesn’t work out so well, but it hasn’t deterred her. In particular, I was thinking about the time I popped into my parents’ house one random weekday evening and asked my mom to drive to Madison with me to see a band. My friend I was planning to go with had bailed last minute, I explained. I asked around a bit, but no one else wanted to drive two hours and back in the same day for some band. You want to? I asked, and of course she said yes.
The funny part is that my mom didn’t say yes for the chance to see live music. She couldn’t care less about that. I grew up with country radio playing in the background, but neither of parents were fans of any particular artist. They rarely seemed to pay much attention to what was playing. It was background for them. For me too, I suppose. But once I started paying attention to what was playing, I was hooked. I started with the country radio that I knew, and eventually I discovered my own music. Indie bands. Local bands. Seeing live music became paramount.
Ida was an early favorite as I discovered the world beyond country radio. The folk influences, gentle harmonies, and sparse sound seemed like it might be mom-friendly. Or I hoped it would be. So we hopped in the car and went off on our adventure. Me, to finally see one of my favorite bands play live. My mom, along for the ride. Because why not?
They played all my favorite songs. By the time we walked out of the coffee shop to start the two-hour drive back home, I was walking on air. “What did you think? Did you like it?” I eagerly asked my mom. “When I could understand what they were singing,” she answered. Matter of fact. For me, it was anything but fact. The night was full of feeling. It was adventure. It was romance. It was everything I truly loved in the world. Or perhaps I was being dramatic in my youthful way. It’s hard to say now all these years later.
I can say that I’m glad my mom taught me the value of adventure. Of saying yes and seeing what happens.
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