My first memory of my mother is in our room, right next to hers, and she is holding Peter in her arms. My bed was on the left and Peter’s crib on the right near the closet door. I also remember Peter rocking on his hands and knees banging his head against the crib headboard, over and over. Rocking.

Other early memories of mother were when I drove my bike on Sunset Ridge Road and mother came by in her car and stopped me. She had told me never to go on Sunset Ridge with my bike and I’m not sure if she spanked me or not. If she did, it was the only time. My bike was small and I had painted it green.

I remember, once when we were in what we called the den, which was really the library, and father slapped me for some unknown reason. Mother, sitting on the couch, held me in her arms afterwards and stroked my head. She protected me.

I remember my mother driving in her car, a 1957 Ford hardtop convertible with white on the bottom, robin’s egg blue in the middle, and white on the top. It was a beautiful car!  One time I remember she didn’t really know how to drive an automatic shift and accidentally put it in reverse and backed up into one of the large pillars of our house and knocked it down!

I especially remember her driving along Winnetka Avenue with the top down, her red hair blowing in the wind. She must have been taking me to a flute lesson because Debby was in the car, too. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful ride.

I remember her picking me up once when I was babysitting in Northfield at night. I was paid .50 cents per hour.

I remember that she cooked a pink shrimp mold!