Day 71: Bad Breath, B-List Babes, Babies, Beeps and Byes

The summer after second grade we rented a house in Sag Harbor for a week in August. The details of our activities are hazy, but really, how could I ever forget my grandmother being so certain that we were near the ocean because she could feel it in her big toe? And I clearly remember that the house belonged to an actress named Lovelady Powell. While her acting resume wasn’t lengthy -- “The Happy Hooker” seems to have been her claim to fame – she had a distinctive voice that lent itself to television commercials. For some time afterwards, Lovelady would interrupt such favorite shows as “Green Acres”, “The Smothers Brothers” and “Hogan’s Heroes” to warn us of the horrors of halitosis. Lavoris was the answer. I hope Colonel Klink was listening.

Framed, autographed photos of Lovelady’s acting pals lined her stairwell. It took me forever to get up those stairs (so much to look at!) and then I spent more voyeuristic hours on the toilet, next to which was an enormous book of celebrity biographies. I’d slowly turn the pages, always getting stuck on the cheesecake photo of Jayne Mansfield. Her boobs were huge! Earlier that summer she’d been decapitated (turns out that scalped would be a more accurate description). She absolutely fascinated me.

I thought of Lovelady recently when I discovered that August 6th was National Fresh Breath (Halitosis) Day. In fact, August was a month overflowing with milestones, among them Waffle Week, National Underwear Day, National Duran Duran Appreciation Day, and Mail Order Catalog Day. I’ll admit to being a fan all of those things – even Duran Duran -- but they didn’t merit much more than a passing thought. The one that gave me real pause: August was also What Will Be Your Legacy Month.

I added that tidbit to my idea file for further consideration. But now it’s September 1. Didn’t I tell you that I’m queen of the procrastinators? It’s mostly that I find that topic so hard, so broad. Is my legacy what will be written on my gravestone? How about, “Didn’t laugh as often as she could have but, when she did, man, was she loud.” I guess that’s part of it. And I guess my legacy is also my children, who are smart and interesting and thoughtful human beings. They make the world a better place. But what about me? Sometimes it does have to be just about me.

I read today that Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar are expecting their 19th child; like the previous 18, this one’s name will also start with the letter J. Michelle, how about naming this one Just Say No to Jim Bob? She’s said yes about 15 times too many. I wouldn’t want to be remembered for giving birth to 19 children (and counting).

So let’s see… I’m generous. I can be thoughtful. I try to lend a helping hand. I’m mildly amusing. I could come up with a few other virtuous adjectives, but I’m much more comfortable talking about my numerous flaws. I’m struggling here… How do others see me? What will be said during my eulogy? I hope I won’t be painted as a saint, as so often happens.

My friend N’s mom died on Saturday at the age of 88. She was a woman who lived life on her own terms, who defied her generation’s stereotype of a housewife. She was unsentimental, a realist; N says two of her favorite phrases were “Rise above it” and “Nobody likes a complainer.” She was a loving and wise mom. I planned on going to her funeral today (you should read the This I Believe essay entitled “Always Go to the Funeral”), but I was kept awake most of the night by a chirping alarm system. I finally fell asleep as the birds joined the chorus and I slept through my alarm. I’m truly sorry to have missed it.

N sent me her mom’s obit, a fairly typical summary of a well-lived life. Her family, her education, her marriage are all noted. But then it enters new territory: she worked at an advertising agency prior to “raising her family, which she did successfully despite her lifelong reluctance to advance her culinary arts, particularly when they interfered with her tennis.” Now there’s a legacy. What a fascinating woman. May she rest in peace.

http://thisibelieve.org/essay/8/