Photo by Paul Wellman (file)
Thursday, April 16, 2009
When I was in my early twenties, I lived in New York City. My mom was visiting and we decided to go see Miss Saigon on Broadway with friends who had come with her to New York. While we were getting dressed in my apartment in Queens, I realized that the only black tights I had were quite ripped in the upper leg and crotch area, but I was going to wear a knee-length skirt that wouldn’t show the rips. I was standing there in my ripped tights when my mom gave me a raised eyebrow and told me it was a mistake to wear them. I argued that we would be late if I had to pick up a new pair, and we made our way to Broadway.
Paul Wellman
Sandie Doles 1953-2008
The play was pretty good, but at intermission I felt the need to stretch, so I stood up, stretched my arms over my head, and looked around. I noticed that a lady three rows up was regarding me with a look of judgment and shock. Then I looked down. Somehow, my skirt was around my waist, my ragged, ripped tights on display. To my right, my mom and my friend Molly were falling out of their seats laughing. I sat down hard and just burst into laughter as well. Tears were running down our faces; we could not get it together. The play resumed, but we continued to be bowled over, unaffected by the tragedy onstage except in that it seemed to add to the humor of the situation.
To this day, just thinking about tights or hearing the words “Miss Saigon” can send me into fits of laughter, and when my mom passed away in October, it was a memory of her that I thought of often, to cheer me up and remind me what a good friend she was. I think it is, in a way, a testament to her infinite wisdom and her ability to know what was right, as well as her ability to laugh with me—not at me—like nobody else.
When she was diagnosed with cancer last January, she handled it like she handled everything in her life, with total honesty and grace. She went through hell, and for those few of us who experienced her illness with her, I think we would all agree that she did the best job she could at keeping her spirit and her humor alive.
I relocated her business recently and am making it my own in her honor. As I do so, there are moments when I can answer questions in my head in her voice. Fair trade was an idea and practice that fell into my lap and then into hers, and it motivated her so passionately that she opened Arcobaleno Trade in spring 2007. In a journal I found recently (one of many with little blurbs in it), she wrote that at her store she was doing exactly what she wanted to be doing. This makes me simultaneously happy and sad, but confirms that my continuing in her honor is the right move. I shut down her store on Haley Street and moved it to State and Figueroa streets with my friend Kristi and her Hummingbird Café. So far the experience has had so much good in it that I know my mom is with me on the decision to continue.
I miss her like crazy, but have felt her energy and comfort around me more since she died. I don’t know if that’s because I’m being more open to it, or because she knows how much I need her guidance in the life I’m attempting to lead without her physically in it.
It is easy to say nice things about my mom, Sandie. She was easy to love. My dad, Tim, my brother, Seth, and I all realize how lucky we were to have her around and appreciate her continuing presence in our lives. What she leaves behind is a legacy of treating people right and always knowing what to do in a sane and honest way. There are so many memories that flood in, they can sometimes get jumbled, but mostly if I sit still they are clear as day.
I probably should have gotten some new tights.