The Kingdom Started Here!: A tribute to the mother who raised me. Hope it comes across that way. 17 January 2009

The woman who raised me, who I have called MOM all of my life, will be 90 on the 22nd of January, having been born in 1919. A cousin asked me this last summer to tell her about all the good memories I have of my mom. Sadly, I couldn’t think of too many. I could think of memories, but…well, they weren’t what most people would call great memories. Sadly, they are just memories.
My mom was born in North Western Wisconsin, a little town named Webster in Burnett County. She was given the name Jolette ArBuelah. She was the second oldest of six boys and another girl. Being the oldest girl, she did a lot of caring for younger brothers and her sister; making a vow to “never have any children.” Her family moved frequently. There are some fun stories about her early life, which I would love to share as they are humorous and interesting, and some are heartbreaking, but that will be for another time. When she was 18, she left Wisconsin, making another vow “never to go back” because of the cold, and went to live with Aunt Mable in Los Angeles, California. The aunt is another incredible story.
There are many stories and pieces of wisdom from this part of her life. Aunt Mable taught her a lot about life and money. Mom dated some great looking guys, and in October of 1944 she married Elmer, a very tall, good looking Texan. He died 9 months later in the war…he was serving in the war at the time. However, his actual death was caused when he was driving his motorcycle (he was an M.P.) through an intersection and a jeep full of drunken soldiers ran a stop sign and hit and killed him. She has hated motorcycles ever since. But it occurs to me that nothing was ever said about “drinking and driving.” Hmmmmm….that will be a question I will have to ask her about.
In April of 1946, she married the man who I have always called, DAD. They built a very nice home in what was then a very nice area of Los Angeles. Eventually they decided they would like to have children, but weren’t succeeding. Maybe the “vow” was a curse?! The doctors said there wasn’t anything medically wrong, and to “just keep trying.” After having no luck, they decided to adopt a baby. They were told of a baby due in May that they could adopt, and prepared the nursery and their lives for this baby. The baby was a boy, and stillborn. I’m sure it was devastating, after waiting and planning. They were told that another woman was having a baby in a few weeks and giving it up. On June 11th, 1955 Dr. Schaeffer delivered me to their home on Athens Blvd. in Los Angeles in his brand new 1955 Thunderbird. I’m sure it was exciting, but I don’t remember a thing. Six months later my mom was pregnant!
Our family moved to Hawaii in April of 1956 when my dad took a District Regional Sales position with Johnson & Johnson. My mother was a VERY social person. My dad was also a golf pro and belonged to the Mid-Pacific Country Club. My mom belonged to the Women’s group, playing golf, and socializing in luncheons, etc. She also went to her Sorority meetings, Garden Club, Bridge Club, etc…She had her hair done once a week and always wore very chic dresses, with matching hats, shoes, gloves, etc.; never a hair out of place and always picture perfect. AND the house was the same. AND we, my brother and I, were expected to be the same way!
To say our family was dysfunctional, is well… it’s quite possible that we put the dysfunction in dysfunctional. In 1961, my parents separated, and later divorced. This was the beginning of many, many moves and challenges. My belief is that she has never had the confidence to stand alone. She has always had someone telling her what to do and how to do it. First it was her father, then her aunt, next her first husband, finally my dad…I believe she is afraid to be alone…to make decisions on her own. So, after dating a few men, she married a man from the states in 1964. They were married three years before divorcing. She took my brother and me to San Diego where my dad lived. They spent the next two years together; together managing a golf course for a year. When it looked like it wasn’t working, she decided to remarry my step-father, who still cared for her. That lasted a year before they divorced and she remarried my dad. Many things had changed in their lives by this time; they were together until my dad died in 2001. They did continue to move, several times in fact. I have lost count because they continued to move after I married in 1975. I moved her again in October, from Utah back to California. I think she made the remark that this was her 40th move. She lives on her own, and for someone 90, that’s remarkable. She swims almost every day, belongs to a singles group, a bridge group and a ladies group.
Sadly, she and I have never really had a very good relationship. I will say that in the last twenty to thirty years it has gotten a little better, but it is far from what I would have liked it to be. Things she finds important, are far from the things I think are important. I love her. I have watched her struggle and go through many challenges in my life, and have heard about the ones that happened before I came along. I have been there for her when she has been deceived. I cried for her about five years ago when she called me to tell me she had been “hurt beyond anything” she had ever been through in her life. In her life she lost her first husband, had been married and divorced several times; she had been hurt many times and in many ways in her life. But this…This was the “worst pain, the worst hurt” she had ever experienced. I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. I couldn’t believe someone would do something like that to her. I was more than appalled. It made me sick to my stomach and I actually hurt for her. Oh how I cried, with her and by myself for her pain. Sadly, she is still grieving over it and there isn’t anything I can do; there isn’t anything that anyone can do. It can never be fixed. The hurt will be there until she dies. But, so like her, she is not bitter even though the hurt is still there.
I like to think that despite everything, she has had a happy life. There are many stories she has told me through the years; dancing with the “Big Bands,” going on a six month honeymoon with my dad. She doesn’t like to wear yellow. She loves the color blue. Her favorite cake is Carrot Cake. She flunked Algebra because she had to stay home and take care of her mother and new little brother. She milked cows every morning on the farm, and her father didn’t care if she missed school. That just meant she could help out at home. In the winter she and her brothers used cross country skies to get to school. She won first place in a beauty contest; one of the judges was Red Skelton. She built a Chinese rock garden in our back yard in Hawaii. She loves roses and at several of our houses, planted rose gardens. I learned a lot about roses from her; how to prune them, their names, where to cut the flower from the stem. This started my love of gardens, plants and flowers. She took a cake decorating class when I was a child. This started my love of baking and decorating. She made clothes for me when I was a child. This fascinated me along with her Haute couture, and started my desire to make and design clothes. She took an oil painting class and painted some very nice paintings. I teased her about becoming another Grandma Moses. When I was pregnant with my second child, she took class and learned to make porcelain dolls. They are wonderful and very special to me. She said she took the class because when she was a girl, she got a doll for Christmas one year. It was her first doll. Within a few hours her brothers had broken it. She never had another doll until she made these. They are her treasures. When we moved to New Mexico, she became fascinated with Indian jewelry, rugs, pots, dolls, etc. From then on, she has always had an “Indian” room in her home.
I think the best memory I have of her, and the most touching was the Christmas Bobby and I drove to Utah and "kidnapped" her. She was so happy she cried! It was absolutely awesome.
She has gone back to Wisconsin…several times to visit family; birthday parties for her relatives who lived past the century mark. It’s quite possible that she could see that; if she doesn’t wither away to nothing. She has been a small woman my whole life. She is 5’2” and weighs about 85 pounds. Since my children are so much bigger than her, they have always called her Grandma Yoda. While some people think this is really funny, and I guess it is, I have come to think of it is a compliment. Yoda was wise and powerful in spite of his size. He trained others to become powerful and believe in themselves; she taught me many things. I in turn have taught my children many things. Yoda lived to be 900 years old. I know with all the things my mom has done in her life; places she has lived, people she has met, experiences she has had, most people couldn’t do that in 900 years. She is a very giving person. She taught me compassion for others. She loves to serve others and it never ceases to amaze me the lengths she will go for others. She is a remarkable woman. I would share more, but that is for another time.