by Nellie Curtiss …
Sunday May 13 in 1962 was a special Mother’s Day. Just a month earlier, my sister, my mom and I had joined our stepdad near Madrid, Spain. Daddy Joe, an airman stationed at Torrejon Air Force Base, wanted the day to be memorable, so he planned a family picnic and fishing trip up in the hills.
As I toured the geography of Spain on Google Earth in preparation of writing this column, I found Laguna Grande de Penalara just north of Madrid. The lake was surrounded by rocky landscape and looks like the place we might have picnicked and fished at. The hills sloped down toward the water and were scattered with boulders and rocks.
Wearing a white t-shirt with sleeves rolled up to his shoulders where he hid his Pall Malls, Daddy set up the military issue blanket, fishing buckets and bait station near the water bank and Mom rescued two beers from their cooler for them.
I was curious what the two of them talked about. Looking back now, they were barely 30 and with almost three years married they still snuck kisses between them. My first-grade sister and I, a third grader, followed very strict rules about talking when they were fishing. We were not to talk at all so that fish wouldn’t be scared away. Being a talker and always asking “why”, I whispered when I begged to go up the hill to play.
My little sister and I decided to go exploring. We soon found boulders rounded enough to become our living room chairs as we also stacked and scooted rocks into a makeshift outline of a cabin. Down below, we could see Daddy fly fishing and mama with her cane pole. Every so often, Mama who was wearing dark Levi’s with the hems rolled up, glanced up at us playing among the sparse greenery and scattered rocks. Her smile seemed brighter accented by her curly blond hair. She’d wave and we’d wave back.
My little sister’s nickname was Noodles, as she loved Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup. So. Noodles and I looked for flat stones and stacked our little abode up a few inches. As we hashed out our clever story in our cabin, we decided to make a present for Mama. Earlier, I made sure that I sprung crayons and pencils from Mama’s purse before heading up the slope. Turning a flat stone into a desk, Noodles and I began to color a couple small rocks to dress up as Mother’s Day presents. Soon, we discovered that crayons don’t really color rocks, flat or round. I remembered a little note pad was in Mama’s purse; so, I borrowed that. We then folded the sheets and brightly colored our gifts for her. A drawing of Mama and us two girls in a house was my card cover and inside, I wrote, “To Mama, Love Nellie.” My sister also created a card with flowers and stick figures of us at the lake and she wrote, “I love you.”
Together we zigzagged our way down the slope avoiding boulders, until we gave Mama a hug and she thanked us, too, for the Mother’s Day treasures. By now, we were interested in fishing too. Putting his cigarette in his mouth, Daddy pulled out two extra cane poles; then, he loaded them with a rolled dough ball. Lined up beside the bank, we fished alongside Mama and Daddy that special Mother’s Day Sunday in 1962.
Nelda Curtiss is a retired college educator and long-time local columnist. Reach her at http://www.columnsbynellie.com or email her at columnsbynellie@gmail.com
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