The Nest and The Bean: Mommy Dearest

Today is my first mother's day. And in honor of my first mothers day I would like to write some words about my own mother, Renate Suzanne Coulson.

Renate was born in Muster, Germany in 1949, a beautiful city with a cobblestone market and a lake bedecked with a swans.

At some point in the late 60's she met a plucky red headed american soldier at a disco, and after 9 months of courtship and another 9 months or so of nearly daily letters on orange stationary, she agreed to his proposition of marriage and arrived in Seattle, Washington to start her new life.

She loved the Beatles and Miniskirts, and it probably was lovely to live an exiting new life across the sea, even if it was probably often lonely. She went to school for Psychology, and in 1979 she had her first and only child. Me.

I don't remember playing with my mother much as a child, (which is not to say that she didnt' as the picture below clearly indicates)

my father being very in touch with his inner child did most of that. But I do remember that when I was a teenager, the understanding I had always had with my father began to wain and suddenly my mother and I saw eye to eye.

My mother is good with a pairing knife. She is quick witted and funny and speaks and spells in English, albeit speaking with a slight accent, better than either my father or me I. (she also has better grammar)

She taught me a love of some of the finer things in life, of a good dark cup of coffee with half and half, of reading anything and everything, of gardening, of living with the seasons, of low romantic lighting, of candles on all holidays and even on any evening you want to be special and the value of making your food beautiful on the plate, because "the eye eats first".

She also told me my dirty fingernails would make it hard to find a man and asked aloud exasperated and maybe only sortof joking why she couldn't have had a "normal" child.

And for most of my life I steadfastedly refused dressing up,(or at least looking normal while doing it, see below) brushing my hair, cleaning my nails or any semblance of normalcy.

at 33, I still can't dress normal or keep my fingernails clean.
(me in my crazy wedding gown, my mom dressed in period peice fashion at my request, looking proud anyway)