Mommy Dearest
March 3, 2009, by Connie Stetson
Scene from The Bad Seed, 1956
Mommy Dearest was a truly crappy movie. I always want to put it on a double bill with Great Balls of Fire as a tribute to bio flicks gone wrong. When that movie came out, I started calling my mom, Mommy dearest. She thought that was hilarious. Also, anybody seen The Bad Seed? When that murderous little brat, Patty McCormick, says to her poor, victimized mother, “I have the nicest mother, the sweetest mother…I tell all my friends”. EEEUUWWWW!!! She loved it when I’d say that to her.
On this rainy Sunday, and I find myself missing my mommy something awful. She’s been gone a dozen years now and I miss her all the time. I miss her when I’m frustrated, thrilled, fat, thin, when I have a cold, but especially on this day: The Oscars. My mother was a rabid movie fan and she would have been spending this day laying out an array of Goobers and Good and Plentys, Coke with crushed ice in wax cups, popcorn with real butter, (my mother embarrassed me more than once complaining to the hapless tattooed teens toiling at the concession stand in a movie theater, about the fake glorp they pour over their popcorn. What is that shit anyway?) and have a few people over to play movie theme games and watch the Academy Awards.
I went once and had a great time, but I really hate Oscar parties. I’m serious about the Academy Awards and all that yakking is frikkin’ irreverent. What we would do though, is call each other during the commercial breaks to gossip, gab and gas about the films, the stars, the fashion (where is Cher theses days, anyway?) and just generally have a visit. Even now, if my phone rings during the ceremonies I half expect it to be my mom.
What I will do—because I live up here in the sticks about 300 miles away from anyone who really gives a damn about the Oscars, oh, but if there was a nationally televised awards show for the FFA, they’d be all over that—is call my pal Barbara, whose husband is a sound man and actually works the Academy Awards, (She doesn’t mind that she never gets to go. Lucky he’s married to her. Personally, I’d make his life a living hell if he didn’t at least get me a job as seat warmer) get in my pajamas, cozy up on the couch, open a bottle of champagne, do the whole caviar thing, with sour cream, a little red onion, on toast points and start at 3:00 p.m. with E Channel and watch it all with her, over the phone, from beginning to end.
It makes this day, this day that I miss my mom so much, less empty of her company, and with the exception of the champagne, I’m sure she would approve. Love you, Mommy dearest.
March 3rd, 2009 at 10:00 am
WELL!!!!!! Don’t YOU sound like a frustrated ACTOR!!!!! Me Too! Some day Conz……some day!
March 3rd, 2009 at 10:34 am
What an evocative post! I thought The Bad Seed was one of the scariest movies I ever saw as a kid. (My mom did not believe in censorship, although I’m not sure I’d have let my own pre-teen daughter see a movie about a little psycho back in the day.) Once I took an acting class and played the mom in the play version of The Bad Seed, the scene where she figures out her daughter is a murderer. I think I’m still drained 30+ years later from the experience!
My mom died in 1980, and I’ll never stop missing her. Sounds like you were blessed with having a close friendship with your mom. I still talk to mine all the time. The fact that she’s not in a body these days doesn’t stop me. As my husband often says, how wonderful to have loved so much that we miss them when they’re gone.
March 3rd, 2009 at 10:46 am
I grew up with the Oscars. My mother was fervent about the Oscars, the Olympics and Dick Cavett. The only one of those that stuck with me was the Oscars. I always have a party be it a party of one, two or more. But the rules are always the same. Talking only during commercials. The red carpet show this year was too short for my liking but the rest was extremely satisfying to me. My mother started taking us to musical theatre as soon as we were old enough to stand on our own (she chose the very back row so we could stand up in our seats) so a good song and dance man and the production numbers that go with him (Hugh Jackman and Company) well…thats a good night. My mother has been gone 8 years. I don’t miss her in that active way you’ve described but I am grateful that I am able to recognize her appearance in and contribution to some of the little rituals of my life.
March 3rd, 2009 at 11:06 am
Wonderful! I miss my mother’s pithy comments at the Oscars too. We would dissect, analyze and autopsy every outfit, speech and winner so that we exhausted ourselves by the end of the show!
Thanks, Connie for bringing back great memories!
March 4th, 2009 at 7:36 am
The first person I wanted to call after my mother died was my mother. I knew she would have offered me the comfort I needed, the wisdom to put it all in perspective.
That instinct–to turn to the person who loved us first and unconditionally–lasts a lifetime. To turn to the one who tended our cut knees, who tried to heal our hearts when girlfriends were mean, who defended us against our fathers when they said a pair of shoes or dress was too expensive (especially when we’re only going to wear it once)…only a mother understands everything her daughter must go through in this crazy, transitional world.
Lucky you to have shared those golden Oscar moments with Mom.
March 4th, 2009 at 10:50 pm
i would LOVE to curl up on your couch and eat caviar and drink champagne while we watch the oscars!!! i may not have a clue about the movies these days since the kids have control of the movie selection 80% of the time, but if you’re open next year, lemme know
. we just have to think of something creative for mike and the kids to do so i don’t feel guilty for leaving him w/them AGAIN for hours on end (he takes them ALL the time – very present partner).
March 7th, 2009 at 4:48 pm
Oscar is very lucky to have you, Conz, (and your Mum) he should take more care of you. I do love the disfunctional Hollywood family event, although I flick between channels more that I ever used to. I went once too and no I never have to wonder what cattle feel like when they are herded into pens and held there for hours.
March 8th, 2009 at 5:33 pm
Thanks for the poignant reminder. My widowed mom hasn’t been well lately, and I tend to lose patience with her, much as I love her. Your post reminds me to cherish her while she’s here. My father died 16 years ago, and just as you miss your mom, I miss him every day.