My mother grew up in the flapper age
The Roaring Twenties, the Charleston the rage
Her life path was shaped by that stage
My mother could have been a Hollywood star
Her beauty cream was kept in a porcelain jar
The fairest of the P.T.A. mothers by far
My mother raised four kids in all
A rowdy bunch who thought life a brawl
When gobsmacked, she smoked a Pall Mall
My mother was enamored of flowers
Cultivating her garden for hours
Her green thumb had wondersome powers
My mother taught us all the birds’ names
Bird-watching was one of our games
Wild turkeys and pheasants, our aims
My mother had slogans galore
“Eat your beans Suzy,” and more
Her goal was to shape up her corps
My mother was a razzmatazz cook
She mastered Irma’s joyous cookbook
Broiled whitefish, our extremities shook
My mother enjoyed a big party
Sipping cocktails with Jackie and Marty
Costumes, poetry, swing music, so arty
My mother would boat on Green Bay
Mike and Jean, the whole gang for the day
Fish Creek and Egg Harbor, on the way
My mother wasn’t keen on affection
Straight and narrow was her predilection
For the most part she admired perfection
My mother’s main value was fun
She fretted if her children had none
Told her daughter she oughtn’t be a nun
My mother saved our Irish Setter Mike
Who fell through the ice on a hike
She risked her own life for that tike
My mother was an avid jazz fan
For her, Louis Armstrong was the man
Play some Louis, she’d dance the can-can
My mother would spank me with a stick
If she thought I was being a dick
I wailed so she’d get it done quick
My mother saved my life at Green Bay
In deep water, age five, not okay
No mother, I’d not be here today
My mother’s whole circle liked to drink
The Jim Beam sat next to the sink
Two sips and her cheeks would turn pink
My mother now and then would go crazy
If her children proved fractious or lazy
My memory of those moods gets more hazy
My mother’s worst habit was smoking
“Lung cancer, please tell me you’re joking”
We were scared about surgery and croaking
My mother and dad loved their Farm
She decorated the cabin with charm
A family escape, safe from harm
My mother adored Lovey, her cat
White Angora and just a smidge fat
Lovey’d jump on her lap for a chat
My mother expired, Eighty-Six
Of afflictions the docs couldn’t fix
My plan: Meet for lunch near the Styx
