She Smoked

She smoked She smoked, my mother did, a LOT! I never liked it. To me she looked like of those “molls” in detective magazines, later on television, cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth acrid smoke curling up (she didn’t inhale) choking the air as she played cards or worked at her desk. To be sure, there were “issues” between husband and wife. Mid-Great Depression Dad out of work or out of town for work alone with kids to manage clothe and feed with what? So she smoked. Small family Jewish grocer let bills run up. Smoking a comfort? Housedresses, nothing new, shoes needed for kids. Teeth bad, pull them. Children need dental care. Sharp tongue cutting no whining “Just get on with it”. Hurt, not understanding we sulked. She smoked Smoking and smoking taking in relatives with lost jobs, lost homes, sick or in need, managing somehow depressed (never admit it) feeling put down, frustrated, underrated and underappreciated never accomplished anything worthwhile with her college degree. But, in her own way, a saint in a housedress Smoking away the grief.