Those Awkward Teenage Years

Now that the fall wardrobe is down, I have been spending my time shopping for a birthday present for our granddaughter Margery who is turning thirteen.

You know in my day - before the world went to pieces - my mother took me into Boston and we went shopping for my first grown up outfit.  While I was attached to a pink silk party dress with Juliette sleeves, my mother, being the sensible woman that she was sat me down and said "Now Martha, this is a lovely dress - it's a bit expensive, but we can afford it.  Tell me, where will you wear it."

Truth be told, I didn't have an answer for her.  So Mother said to me, "I will tell you where you will wear it; your father and I are taking to you to dinner at the Club.  You are a maturing young woman, and it is now time for you to take your place at a grown up table.  It is our way."

I was elated.  But I burst my own bubble when it dawned on me that my best friend Evadele Miles-Ratner had told me about her introduction to the adults table not a month before.  "Oh, Martha, it's terribly boring. Not only must you be on your best behavior, but there is no one for you to kibbitz with because you are the youngest one there!"

Mother sensed my disappointment and said that "there will be no long faces. This is your place in the world and there are many children in South Boston who would kill, quite literally, for this type of opportunity.  Now smile little lamb and let's select a new pair of white gloves for your outfit."

That's a young me on the left and Evedele Miles-Ratner on the right. 

Later, when Sylvia and I worked as models for Filine's (I know what you are thinking -Martha Smith-Standish worked? Yes I did.  One is only young once.  But I didn't make a career of it, and that is what matters most.) we loved to get dressed up in the latest good-girl fashions. The silk dresses.  The velvets, the muslin, the linen suits!  And the bows! (We must not forget the glorious bows!)  I enjoyed being a girl!

But those days are past, and now I am not a girl.  I am a wife and mother.

Well, fast forward to today and as I was shopping for that present for Margery I felt quite sad that she will not be treated to her first grown up dinner when she turns thirteen.  No, instead her parents, Melissa and Jonathan will be taking her to Disney World with Margery's best friend, a Miss Toemiko Jones, for a weekend of childhood indulgence.


Anyway, what does one buy a thirteen year old going on seven?  Not a grown up dress, but an iPad, which is used for surfing the web, chatting with "peeps", and on rare instances, I am sure, playing something called Angry Birds.

Oh well, it would be lovely to have Margery here so I could buy her a dress, but according to her mother she is beginning to drift towards Goth fashions - all black, accents with chains and dark hair.

Well, such is life - the order changeth with the passing of years.

My husband Edwin Smith-Standish and I attending an international stamp show and the excitement in house is building to a crescendo of anticipation of what we might find and who we might see.  If only Margery could join us!

In any event, I hope that your weekend will be relaxing.

A death in the family

We received news last evening that our grandson King is in mourning over the death of pet goldfish, Phoebe.

I can't tell you what kind of tragedy this is because it's really more kabuki theater than it is true mourning. 

While Edwin and I are simply mad for our grandson, Phoebe's passing was not the shocking news that it was portrayed as. 

According to our daughter Paige, who is King's mother, there were great dramatics when King went to his room and found the limp, lifeless body, floating in the fetid water that was her home for the last year.  Frankly we are amazed that dear Phoebe lasted as long as she in the murky, mirthless bowl that was her home.

"I'm amazed he even looked at the bowl," Paige quipped.

You see, our grandson isn't one who is preoccupied with details - he is a broad thinker - a big picture junior executive type. An accountant to be? We think not.  A future CEO of a multinational conglomerate? Yes, as long as he has a good right hand who is steering the ship, so to speak.

So naturally, when King said he wanted a dog last year, I my heart sank.  The poor animal, whatever it would be, would starve for affection and a meal under King's tenure as his master, and the whole idea was for the boy to get a pet is so he could learn to take care of it.  So Paige - who is a clever girl in her own right - said that if King could keep a gold fish alive for a year, they would revisit the dog.  (I for one thought it would have been a better idea if they would have given King a cactus - you know something with some staying power.)


The fish, named Phoebe, managed to keep King's attention for all of ten minutes.  Paige knew the poor fish was in danger, but she stood her ground, and I am happy for that.  It would have been easy to step in and act as a buffer between the fish and it's ten year old owner, but Paige really held firm.

Of course, now she is hysterical with grief because she is an accomplice to a "coyicide", but this is a lesson in strength that both needed to learn.  Being a parent isn't all it is cracked up to be.  That is why God invented nannies.  I suppose if my mother were still alive I could afford to go into a tizzy as well.  Oh, well - since I am the senior adult, it falls to me to keep my head.


Funeral Services for Phoebe were held immediately upon discovery, so thankfully we didn't have to fly back east for it. That would be utter nonsense.  I'm sure if it had been a hamster or something like that our attendance would have been requested, and there would be the wringing of hands just shy of the end from Imitation of Life.  The corpse received the goldfish equivalent of cremation; Paige did used the Sure-Flush in the guest room for Phoebe's final swim.

When I go to church on next Sunday I am going ask my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that my grandson learn from this - that life is sacred in every form, even if you can't throw a stick and have said "pet" bring it back to you.  If a pet cannot do more than waive a fin at you, well, then embrace that finny friend.

Bon voyage, Phoebe.  May your life, and death, be not in vain.

I remain,

Mrs. Edwin Smith Standish