In our lives, when an era passes, we are not usually cogni zant of its immediate occurance. We usually reflect and are then able to qualify the beginnings and endings of these eras. Most of the time. I think.

I mean, I recall leaving for college which, in hindsight, was a clear end-of-one-era-beginning-of-another time. But all I can remember thinking is ‘get me the hell outa here.’ I’m sure for my parents it was a different feeling entirely. I imagine for them it was very bittersweet - very sad, very relieved (“We kept her alive this long, and now it’s up to her!”) and very, very aware that nothing would ever be the same again. I can’t really think of any moment in my past where I was that present and aware of that moment happening at the moment. Not even when I have fallen in love or gone through a break up. Even then I’m just feeling what’s happening at that time. I don’t think I ever recognized it as a beginning or an end of a part of my life.

And then yesterday happened. My mom moved away. And as the weeks, days, hours and minutes approached that led up to the goodbye hug, curbside at LAX, I was enormously aware, painfully cogni zant that something very big was happening - something bittersweet. The end of an era. And as Fred drove me home from the airport, I cried. But when he asked me what I was feeling I realized it was not so simple to answer. I was sad, yes. But I was also happy, relieved, comforted and confident that it was the very best thing. I maybe kind of even felt a little bit like she did when we hugged goodbye before I drove away to college. Maybe?

While my mom and I have always been close, and no one could ever deny that the woman is an incredible mom, an amazing nurturer, the queen of positive reinforcement and encouragement, we have definitely had our struggles with each other.

I think it all started when I was about thirteen. I was going through puberty right about the time she started to go through menopause. Talk about a hormone extravaganza. And two women at opposite ends of the hormone extravaganza spectrum. Double yikes. And you know, mom wanted to, like, mother me so much, and Dad, Dad was always so chill. I could get away with anything at Dad’s house. You get the idea...
 

Mom and I have always talked on the phone a ton, visited each other regularly and all the normal stuff. But we have always bickered. When she moved out here I realized that we had not spent so much physical time around one another since I moved away to college. When I was eighteen.

And so, for the first three of the four years she lived here, in The City of Angels, we treated each other like anything but angels. Everyone from my friends to my Dad had to either listen to us bicker or listen to one of us talk about it. We made each other, and everyone around us, crazy, mad, sad, and exasperated. And tired. Ourselves included.

And then, about a year ago, the tide changed. I don’t know what happened, I really don’t. But we have been closer than I can ever recall. We talk (too) many times a day, run errands together, cook together, cry together, share our laughter and fears, all of it. And then she left. And I wanted her to. She needed to. And though I’m sad and all the other stuff I already said, I am so happy to know that in the time she was living out here we fixed it. We fixed us. And now we have a truly enviable mother-daughter relationship. And I already miss her so much. And I’m so glad I do.

The week before she left, she practically lived with me and Fred. And during that time we cooked a lot of food. As I’ve mentioned many times, we have very different kitchen super powers. For instance, she can bake. So this last week we made a lot of things that I normally shy away from: banana/rum/pecan bread, a honey-lemon tart with salted shortbread crust, granola, and bagels. She has been making her own bagels since forever and they are really good - crisp and lightly brown on the outside and dense and chewy on the inside. They are extraordinary when eaten within a couple of hours of coming out of the oven. By the next day they are mostly only good as anvils or anchors for large ships.

So she showed me how to make them. The funny thing is, she made the bagels while I merely kneaded the dough for about thirty-eight seconds. And even though she made them, she told everyone how proud of me she was because I did such a good job on my very first bagels. That is so Mom.

And here is how to make her bagels.