Bothered and Bewildered

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”
~ Anne Lamott

My mother gave me three pieces of advice/words of wisdom over the course of my life that I am eternally grateful for:
1- the Summer of our 11th year, when my cousin Cindy and I set across the road to the lake to shave our legs for the very first time, armed with a bar of Ivory soap and my Uncle Mike's razor, my mother shouted from the porch steps, "whatever you do, don't shave above your knees!"
2- the time a few years ago when a very well-respected, and renowned, psychic came over to ME, singling me out over hundreds of people, to give me an unsolicited "reading", and I skulked out of the venue (a massive church on Park Avenue), in a state of panic, while the Medium's back was turned. I apologized to my sister and my mom for disappointing them as well as myself. My mother, in a moment of supreme motherly wisdom offered, "Don't be disappointed - you simply weren't ready to hear whatever it was she had to tell you."
3- on a sweltering August night at the lake house ,when I was around 7 years old, as I lay tossing and turning in bed, twisted up in my baby doll pajamas unable to fall off to sleep, she calmly instructed me to see how absolutely still I could be, which, oddly enough, didn't have the effect on me of stiffening up in an effort to lie motionless but, rather, made me look at the places in my body that were still restless and resistant. In essence, and certainly without knowing it, she gave me my first instruction on how to meditate.
It's hard to say if my mother was clinically depressed or if it's just my perception of her. In retrospect, I think it's more than safe to say that she suffered from some form of clinical depression. Then again, it's not that far-fetched to think that she might have been really, truly happy and content to watch Murder, She Wrote day and night. I think it's a bit of both.
When I was in second grade, I can remember hearing myself describe my mother's looks to Paul Showaks and Madeline Brennan when I suddenly realized I was actually describing the actress Elizabeth Montgomery and not my mother, at all. I said that my brown-haired mother who wore her hair in a short "mommy" cut had "long blond hair that she wore in a flip or, sometimes, if it was a hot day, she would pull it back in a ponytail and tie a ribbon around it."
Judith Ianelli's mom was a hairdresser so Judith came to school with the most elegant hair-do's every single day. I imagined her mother to look like Marlo Thomas.
My mother never openly complained about anything. She never exhibited jealousy around other women, either. But, strangely, my perception of her was certainly not one of confidence and self-awareness.
I do know that long hair on a girl was very important to my father. I had very long hair that he "never" wanted me to cut. I had no idea as to how much of my identity was tied to my long hair until I saw a childhood friend that I hadn't seen in thirty or more years and the first thing he said to me was -
"Dawn, you cut your hair!!"
Even at a very early age I had the impression that my mom was not enough of something. I wanted her to grow her hair so that as we watched Tarzan (Johnny Weissmuller) my Dad wouldn't think long-haired Maureen O'Sullivan (Jane) was prettier than my mom. I had no obvious reasons for feeling that way. My parents never, and I mean never, fought and I never heard my Dad criticize or demean my mother in any way. I was hooked in to an undercurrent in their relationship and I would build upon that right up until the night my parents had their first real fight and their marriage took a sudden turn in a direction that would inform my life for years to come.