Most of a life happens before you arrive to witness it. This one is reconstructed from inherited anecdote.
Oh boy, here we go again—it's me, Mr. Milestone, and I'm happy to share this page-turning event with my mother, Denne, as we enter what we'll conservatively name her next chapter: "The Ninth Decade." Side note: TIL that I don't often need to spell "ninth" and found it more challenging than expected.
In my mother's presence, I enjoy eliciting the token eye rolls when verbally imagining to younger, extended, family her early days as ones filled with cars with stone wheels that were pushed by bare feet and family friends who had dinosaurs as pets. But secretly, when I think about the time between 48 and 80 years ago that my mother experienced, I have to conjure the imagery based on the anecdotes I've accumulated combined with the spirit and courage I've inherited that put me in places I would never have expected—because I learned from her that I don't need to be afraid of the world.
Those visions include endless adventures with my father in all corners of the world, countless miles of land, sea, and sky laid behind them as they travel, move, and build their way through a life that has resulted in 6 grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren across the globe—but I'll get to those scamps in a bit. I imagine sweltering days in Texas; numbingly extended road trips across the country, with as many waypoints as can be experienced offering respite on those long hauls; sun-filled afternoons in California with sounds of the Pacific Ocean crashing waves into the bottom of a cliff that pedestrians across the globe who can't live in such exotica play loops of on their sound machines. In her earlier years, I imagine uber-New England experiences like clam bakes, wood stoves, snow-angels, snow-men, snow-sledding—insert hyphenated snow activity here; sunsets ending days from across the lake while surrounded by family and friends playing cards at the camp. Shortly before I came on the scene to rack up the hospital bills, I imagine a long run of the busy social life in Newport, RI—sailing boats, supporting local businesses 😏, and raising my siblings, i.e., "the other two."
Once I was ready to enter center stage, perhaps to the chagrin of said other two (or one 🤔), imaginings graduate to memories, and it turns out those two things often share origins. We were consistently seeking growth and change, moving into at least three houses that I can remember, but plenty more than that I am sure. Mom made sure we knew how to enjoy what was bequeathed to us by nature and family: endless days of lake swimming and crawfish hunting among the rocks in Maine, beach days on the northern shoreline in summer, and the dunes of Hilton Head in winter.
In 1987, we moved south to our vacation spot in Hilton Head, and that's where the enterprising aspect of this spirit really began to flourish. Few things in life require more courage than launching a venture off your own back, and when that venture is a restaurant, the required moxie and stamina is next level. Mom and Dad met the moment not with just one business but several entities that served thousands of patrons through hundreds of large-scale parties, a handful of full-on concerts, and innumerable plates of caloric joy. This is when I learned that delivering quality requires passion, energy, consistency, and unending determination. These are the ingredients of that spirit, which was called on again when my parents pivoted from the restaurant business once the 9/11 attacks proved unrecoverable from our economic perspective, into other businesses and personal projects that resulted in flipped houses from Maine to Florida. This chapter highlights another ingredient of that spirit yet to be mentioned: talent. Mom always had a talent for interior design, the traces of which are still found in the homes that she lived in and renovated in Florida, South Carolina, Maine, and Rhode Island.
Last night, I took Mom to re-experience maybe the most talked-about moment in her Boston-based restaurant history—the Tuna Tartare at Mistral. We were very pleased to learn that not only is this item still on the menu 20+ years later, but it is still a phenomenal staple of a truly storied brand that remains a bright thread in Boston's rich epicurean tapestry. This was a small token to show appreciation to someone who not only survived this planet for 80 years but has brought plenty of love into the world and has plenty to be proud of.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I Love You.
I write tributes for a living — eulogies, toasts, send-offs and keepsakes. See how that works.