When I pack a suitcase to visit Mom in Cleveland I don’t have to pack sweatshirts or nightgowns as Mom always promises, "I have plenty for you to wear!" Every night before I get into bed, there is a neatly folded flannel nightgown for me and in the morning, another sweatshirt Mom has decorated. Well, it’s cold this year in Cleveland, and I keep looking at the daffodils with their heads bent to the ground by the wind off Lake Erie, shivering….. The wind blows from Lake Erie right into Mom’s bedroom and I feel like one of those daffodils sometimes. I climb into my Dad’s side of the bed (he’s in a nursing home) and I muse off to sleep very cosy in one of Mom’s flannel nightgowns that she has placed on my side of the bed.
Last night I got bold and decided to challenge this "it’s Spring" thing Clevelanders keep touting. "Ha!" I chortled, "It’s Spring, the Indians won the home opener and it’s time for the fancy nightgowns!" I took a bath and put on Mom’s favorite Shalimar scented body lotion. Then I approached the treasure trove. You really can’t approach the treasure trove of fancy nightgowns without the ritual of wonderful body lotions. I opened the big dresser drawer like I was 5 years old again and I viewed the neatly folded satin nightgowns in white, pastel pink and cream colors. Real lace on the necklines and sleeves, Peignoirs, and on the left, aside from the spendor, the flannel nightgowns all neatly folded. "It’s Spring!" I told the flannels, "And I’m wearing this one!" I lifted out a nightgown that looked like a wedding dress! V neck studded with little pink satin ribbons that ladies tie in bows, one by one. Sleeves edged in creamy lace and little rose colored flowers. I slipped this wonder over my head and I was transported back to an image of my Mother gliding out of her bedroom. A tall, regal woman in a nightgown of pink, purple and green. She wore slippers with little tuffs on them. To the five year old me, she was tall and queen-like. I grinned when I saw the sleeves on this gown barely fall below my elbows and the hem of the gown falling mid calf. Mom is 5 feet tall and I am a good 8 inches taller! No matter; I slid on a little peignoir and try to figure out how to tie it. I felt like a ragged urchin girl who was transported into the Queen’s bedroom. "I don’t know how to tie this thing!" I mumbled. I made an awkward bow. Mom’s size tiny-petite slippers won’t fit, so I complete the ensemble with a pair of white athletic tube socks (Did I tell you it’s freezing here in Spring-time Cleveland?) I glided out into the living room to show off my treasure and my sister gasped with joy! "You look like a Princess! You need a tiara!" Mom laughed, "Where did you get that?" she smiled too with old memories. I glanced with distain on my subjects and I glided over to look out at Lake Erie, waves crashing against the shoreline. "It’s Springtime and I’m a daffodil, standing up straight." I grandly strolled to my seat on the couch in the wake of my spendor.
Later that night, I woke up several times and thought, "It’s cold in here. I haven’t been cold before this. What’s up? Did Mom take away a blanket? … No they’re all here. This is the same pile of fluffy blankets I’ve been sleeping in all week. Brrrrrr…." I rolled out of bed and went to the linen closet to get another blanket. I thought of the plains women who came across the wilds of America in wagons and who slept in flannel nightgowns in drafty log cabins. Well ladies! You were right weren’t you? Flannel nightgowns one and Fancy nightgowns zero.