You’d never guess my mum’s real personality with all her personality quirks from her outward appearance. She didn’t show them when she gave her speeches about her experiences as a partisan. All are understandable of course. So here are some inside stories.
Sometimes you're in a discussion with someone and you can't make a dent in their thinking. You're tired of arguing because it feels like you're talking at a wall. You simply want to agree to disagree. The younger generation has one word for this which ends the conversation. "Whatever." The tone is a mixture of exasperation and finality.
My mother had an expression which carried the same meaning. Those who didn't know her, don't realize that she had in no way changed her own opinion. They don't realize that she's simply exhausted her mental debating energy and she wants to move on. Her expression is more subtle than "whatever", and more convincing.
She says, "Maybe you are right."
When she says that to me, I know it's game over.
When I hear her saying it to anyone else, I'm bemused because they think they've made their point. Little do they know that my mother, Faye Schulman, has simply dismissed them, the way a queen dismisses a tiresome attendant.
Hunger is something you remember forever.
My mother experienced true hunger for only a handful of years. But it left a lasting impression on her behavior. She became a hoarder of food.
She couldn't resist a sale. Whenever the grocery store offered bargains, she stocked up. This is manageable for dry spices but how many hard-boiled eggs can one elderly lady eat in one day? When we wanted to throw out her ancient smelly eggs, she would always tell us the same story - the time her brother brought home one single egg, which the family divided for the 2 youngest children. She told how the family stood around beaming as the children ate.
My son and I would regularly visit and throw out the perishables long past the due date. She was furious. We couldn't do this in front of her because she began to yell. Her protests sounded like she was being murdered. I was afraid the neighbours would call the police.
So my son and I devised a plan. My son would take her out for coffee while I remained behind and loaded up the garbage bags. And there was an added benefit: going out with her very own grandson was a true pleasure for her. It kept her mind focussed in the present, instead of the past.
But my mother quickly caught on to our scheme and she became very skilled at hiding things. She began to hide her food. Frozen chickens on the balcony, bottles of prune juice behind the couch. Those frozen chickens didn't do so well when the snow melted. There was a towel loosely thrown into a corner of the couch. You might think her place was a little messy but you'd never guess the treasures concealed within. There were a couple of potatoes under the towel. There were potatoes stashed underneath a cushion on a chair.
Want to read more of Faye Schulman’s personality quirks?
Click any of these links: I Am Not a Fighter