The Mother of Invention

I can’t believe there is actually a TV show coming out soon called “Pitch Men.” How interesting can that possibly be? Oh sure, I find myself mindlessly saying “sham-wow” with that annoying commercial but that’s only because I’ve been hypnotized by the announcer’s captivating eyebrows.

Sometimes, when I cruise past AMC, Bravo and Style, I slow down as I reach an infomercial speed bump. I’m curious if any of Ma’s home-made doodads have been discovered by someone else. Anything is possible.

Long before the major Health and Beauty Aid companies were adding natural ingredients to their products, Ma was busy whipping up nifty concoctions in the kitchen. She would blend mayonnaise with chamomile tea, massage it into my hair and scalp and then tightly cover my head in saran wrap. I sat like that for fifteen minutes before washing my hair. It actually worked. My normally kinky mane would be smooth and shiny even after a week of shampooing. The drawback was I smelled like a hero sandwich for at least ten days.

Creating household cleaners was another one of Ma’s hobbies. Washing clothes was limited to standard wet or dry cleaning. The only stain treatment available was to rub in detergent before washing. Using salt or club soda wasn’t always effective. Ma would make a paste of salt and baking soda then add club soda, white vinegar, lemon juice or rubbing alcohol. She had a blast experimenting and sometimes the fading was hardly noticeable at all.

We had to be careful when Ma was mixing cleaning liquids for the floors or bathroom. Back then we had a home service that delivered Javelle water, a product that was both a bleach and water softener. Ma would get a large bucket, fill it with steaming hot water, add Javelle and then whatever else was handy. Pine Sole or Lysol was her favorite ingredients. She only made the mistake of using ammonia once. Ma was lucky she got out of the bathroom before the fumes suffocated her or burned her eyes out.

Summer vacation was when I really had a chance to see her in action. She mixed up her secret formulas and set the place to sparkle. It was a bright Saturday morning; I had just completed Seventh grade. Ma walked out of her bedroom holding a clear mixture in one hand and a flat pink box in the other. The gooey liquid sloshed inside the glass as she firmly set it down on the kitchen table.

“Camille, I need your help this morning” Ma said oh so innocently. She opened the box and my eyes bugged out as she attached a hose to the enema bag. “You’re taller than me. Would you hold this hot water bottle over my head? It will only take a few minutes.”

Was she kidding? I wasn’t going near that aquatic bagpipe. I know we were close but that was just ridiculous. “Ma, that’s gross! Can’t you wait until Concetta comes back from Mitizi’s?” She let out an impatient breath. “Mitizi got in Nehru jackets and swing coats. Concetta won’t be back for awhile. We’ll be done in fifteen minutes if I refill the bag just once.”

Oh my God. She expected me to stand there while she refilled the bag? What was I supposed to do while that was happening---make a sandwich? No, this was way too much to ask. “I’ll do any other housework you want but I’m not doing that. It creeps me out.”

So Ma went about her business and I tended to my own. Oddly enough, she left the bathroom door ajar and soon began whistling. I thought, oh boy, she has gone around the bend. How sad is my poor mother’s life that using an enema bag on a Saturday morning has become a leisure activity for her.

Just as drivers are tempted to rubberneck at a crash site, I just could not resist a quick peek at this unusual spectacle. I held my breath and looked through the opening in the door. It was truly amazing. Ma was standing inside the tub, holding the enema bag high over her head, whistling a tune and cleaning the window screen with hot soapy water coming through the hose. Heaven help anyone outside walking below her in the driveway. She caught me gawking and stopped mid tune. “You look surprised. What were you expecting, Camille?” As I walked away, she laughed like hell.

I was never as adventurous as Ma when it came to sanitation or hygiene; I generally follow the manufacturer’s directions and leave product development to the pros. But necessity is the mother of invention and I am my mother’s daughter.

Several years ago, Poppie and I went to the Surf Rider timeshare for a long weekend. I told him the story of Ma’s window washing adventure and he just shook his head. “Your mother was an original” he said and then promptly spilled raspberry syrup down the front of his shirt.

“Damn. Do you have one of those Tide pens that Arianne and Jonathan use? Maybe you have a handiwipe before the stain sets in?” Poppie asked hopefully. He had been enjoying the conversation as much as his pancakes; I rooted around in my bag eager not to disappoint him.

My hand grazed a couple of foil squares at the bottom of my purse. I peeked inside and saw they were for feminine personal care. On the sly, I tore the packets open and handed them to Poppie. He applied the first one directly to the stain and was delighted that it worked. Then, he took the second wipe and cleaned his entire face. “Wow that smells really nice and it’s so refreshing.”

My smile was frozen in place as I tried to stop my eyes from bugging out. It really took me by surprise but then again, what did I expect? I closed my bag and in the far off corner of my mind, Ma stopped whistling and began to laugh like hell.