Posts Tagged Under Marilee Stark
Nature Restores, Yet the Heart Remains Heavy
This piece has also appeared on KQED’s Perspectives and the Berkeley Times.
“Nothing’s left,” my dad reported to my mom. He’d gone by himself to find their house, because he didn’t want my 74-year-old mom to see the devastation of what came to be called the Oakland-Berkeley Firestorm.
Later, my mom asked me to take her. As we approached Hiller Highlands, where they had lived for 11 years, my mom’s face turned ashen as she looked at the hills once covered with homes, including her own. The air was still heavy with smoke. All that remained were chimneys and black matchstick trees.
My parents’ ordeal began about 11:00 am that Sunday when my 78-year-old dad smelled smoke and frantically searched for it. He found nothing, until he opened the front door and got blasted by a gust of wind. Flames covered the hills and appeared headed his way. He grabbed my mom, and they fled in their car down Hiller Drive. They missed by minutes the gridlock that trapped and killed residents fleeing from Charing Cross. Continue… »
By Marilee StarkReflections from Delhi
I remember sitting on a crowded bench in the Delhi train station dripping in 110 degree heat praying for it to cool down. I wondered how it could be so damn hot at 8 p.m. I remember looking at my daughter, Kate, who’d been living in India for two years and noticing how she looked like the other Indians around us who appeared hot, but not drenched like me. I remember feeling relieved that at least my other daughter, Annie, was sweating as much as me even though she was only 25.
I remember thinking age didn’t seem to mediate the heat. I remember wishing I didn’t stick out so much as a foreigner, but the combination of my white skin and wet clothes made that impossible.
I remember endlessly wiping my face with my new orange dupata and worrying I was going to wreck it. I remember Kate telling me not to worry, because the dupatas, Indian scarves, were used to protect against the elements; this included sweat. She told us that the women wore them to shield against sun and wind as well as over their heads for temple visits. Continue… »
By Marilee StarkWanted: Man for My Mom
I never expected my twenty-four year old daughter would pick up a man for me in a bar in a national park. So much for camping trips the way we used to have them back when she and her sister were kids and we sat around campfires roasting marshmallows.
“A girls’ road trip!” My daughter, Annie, boasted to her friends. “My mom and I are driving from Berkeley to Baltimore.”
‘In her Honda Fit no less,’ I thought. ‘It’ll be either great or terrible depending on whose music we’re listening to.’ Continue… »
By Marilee StarkStop-Light Memories of Soccer Games Past
I was waiting at the intersection for the signal to turn green. Suddenly, I heard sequels of laughter from the car next to me. I turned and saw a Volvo station wagon full of girls in soccer uniforms. They were about eleven or twelve chattering among themselves. The mom driving was oblivious to the noise coming from the back seat of her car.
Daughter Does a Good Deed, So Does Mom
I sort the clothes into piles of colored and white. I’m going to have to wash this stuff first before I pack it up. What was this girl thinking? That’s the point – she wasn’t thinking. I mean how many sweaters, pairs of pants and T-shirts can one girl have? She’s got more clothes than her sister and I put together.
I’m trying to make some order in my twenty-four year old daughter’s bedroom. I kick my way through the multi-colored array of shoes scattered around her floor. Really, how many pairs of heels does one need? Of course, I have only a couple of pairs myself.
“You could use some heels, Mom,” she once chided me. “Kind of update your look!”
By Marilee StarkMom Tries to Retreat
I spent the first day of my writer’s residency settling into Jacqueline Mitchard’s home on Cape Cod. It was a beautiful fall day and I could see the leaves beginning to turn shades of red and orange from my bedroom window overlooking the garden.
Sex, Freedom and the Older Mama
Recently, I went to see the film version of Sex and The City with a friend who, like myself, is a mom in her sixties. She said the movie is about sex. I said it’s about freedom.
A few years ago I sounded just like my friend, until I watched the HBO series with my daughters.
“Mom, you’re not going to like it,” my twenty-year old tells me.
By Marilee StarkMusings on Mother’s Day 2008
“Happy Mother’s Day! Want a cup of tea?”
I awake to see my oldest daughter, Kate, standing in my bedroom doorway.
“Annie and I are making breakfast for you. Do you want to sit outside?”
“Kate, give me a minute! I’m not quite awake.” I can’t help but smile at her eagerness to get me up.
By Marilee StarkThe Boyfriend and the Dog
Being a mom of adult children is so hard sometimes.
But being a mom to my daughter’s boyfriend and his dog was not what I signed up for. Yet, in spite of this, I told my youngest daughter, who is twenty-two, she could have her boyfriend stay for awhile until he found a place and, of course, his adorable chocolate lab puppy could stay, too — for awhile.
Over the months I grew fonder of her boyfriend who helped me fix things around the house. And his dog, Chuck, who chased my three cats for play, left dog hair in every corner of the house, and begged me in the mornings for walks, won my heart despite my complaints.
“Someone else needs to walk Chuck,” I’d say three or four times a week, but every morning I’d look into those big brown eyes and dissolve, “Okay, Chuck, let’s go. I’ll take you,” and I’d grab the leash, a few plastic doggie bags and off we’d go.
By Marilee StarkGraduation
Dear Mom,
I wish you were here. Your youngest granddaughter is about to walk across the stage for her college diploma. You’d be so proud! She’s graduating Cum Laude in biochemistry, no less! I just want to jump up and down here in the amphitheater and yell at the top of my voice, “You did it, girl, you made it. We made it!”
I know, Mom, you worried that I wouldn’t have enough money to send one of your granddaughters to college, much less two. You worried about me, not them. You knew they’d be okay. I kept telling you not to worry. I know better now. . . you can’t tell a mom not to worry!
Oh, I wish you were here to take in this proud moment with me. I’m sitting next to your oldest granddaughter who graduated college last year. She’s already working in a real job, making real money.
By Marilee Stark
