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Lovely thread Oct.
My mum was (like I'm sure everybody else's was here) the most beautiful woman I will ever see in my life.
She taught me how to be the man I am today.
To be courteous and well-mannered. Considerate and polite.
She gave me my love of films. My dad was a docker and did a lot of shift work, so I was a proper mummy's boy. She liked horror films but got spooked by them, so she would let me sit up with her to watch 70s TV movies like Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark, Gargoyles, Duel and Salem's Lot. Lovely times. Fond memories.
She succumbed to Alzheimers 5 years ago, aged 86. The saddest day of my life. I think about her everyday.
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Posted: |
May 6, 2018 - 11:05 AM
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By: |
Octoberman
(Member)
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Mom was from "the farm".
One of four daughters, born in 1932.
She moved to the city and faced no small amount of scorn for deserting the rural life.
She married Dad and had 6 kids.
By the early '70's it was clear that his addiction to alcohol had changed him forever and around that time she managed to finally keep him away from the house.
She continued raising us as best as she could for those of us who had yet to leave home.
In the early '80's she was struck with cancer and in 1985 she was gone. (I was 24, the stereotypical middle child.)
Our family, always close-knit even though we frequently had periods of not being able to stand each other, became even closer than ever.
(In 1995 cancer took one of my sisters. In 1998 my Dad followed.)
Once in a while I will catch a glimpse of a pic of Mom as a teenage farm-girl, and I am always caught off guard for a moment by how beautiful and serene her face looked. All the sisters were adorable, but Mom stood out--ironically, by NOT standing out.
I wish I had known her then.
Her joys in later life were few and far between, but her stoicism was always tempered by an undiminished sense of humor and an almost ferocious desire to help others.
She wasn't perfect, but she never became cynical and gave even when she had nothing.
She set an example without knowing it.
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Posted: |
May 7, 2018 - 8:07 AM
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By: |
dtw
(Member)
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My mum was a bit rubbish really, in the grand scheme of things. But, in the mid ’70s, after the family moved away from London, she did get a job in the local cinema (initially cashier, then secretary, then assistant manager and eventually manager), so I grew up in the place. And I'm sure that if that hadn't happened, I wouldn't now have a massive collection of soundtracks and spend my time on sites like FSM and JWFan. So I have her to thank for that, at least.
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Posted: |
May 12, 2018 - 10:10 PM
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By: |
Octoberman
(Member)
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I was always a music geek even from a young age.
As soon as I could earn the cash, my first big purchase was a nice, proper hi-fi.
And oh, how I inflicted it on everyone in that house!
How Mom was able to tolerate it, I have no idea.
Usually I would be playing records down in my room (and usually at gig level), and occasionally I would hear her from upstairs proclaiming a good-natured, but honest "uugh!". Pink Floyd, most likely.
There was this one time I was playing Fleetwood Mac "Rumours".
At the end of "Never Going Back Again", I hear her holler, "again!".
I smile ear-to-ear at that memory every time I hear that song.
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Posted: |
May 13, 2018 - 12:35 PM
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By: |
Zooba
(Member)
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As most of you know, my Mama just passed away one month ago today. One month from today on June 13, she would have celebrated her 97th Birthday.
First Mother's Day without her. My sis and I will probably go to one of her favorite restaurants, RED ROBIN and share the meal she used to get. We are both on diets, so sharing is always the way to go. Mama always enjoyed a RR Cheeseburger, Fries and a Side salad and her drink 7-UP. It was really Sprite I think, cause they don't have 7-UP, but it did the trick for her.
I remember when I would play the Theme from THE GREEK TYCOON on a homemade CD-R with music from John Kongos/Stanley Myers score, Mama would always comment that it was "pretty but sad".
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-9rmwHSVC4
Dad loved Goldsmith's "Love Theme" or "The John" Theme from BAD GIRLS always saying that it was "very pretty" and he loved Goldsmith's GREMLIN RAG which he fondly referred to as a "Tango", pronouncing it in his broken English Italian accent as a "TAHNGO". Loved his voice and accent.
My Uncle Domenic loved Goldsmith's Theme from THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS saying it was "pretty" and "very nice".
They all were my guests at a Live Jerry Goldsmith Concert in 1997 in San Jose California where we all spent most of our lives. What a great night that was!
Rest in Peace Dear Mama, Papa and Uncle Domenic! You all had great taste in Movie Music!
And may all the FSM Board Member Mamas who have passed on Rest in Peace. My love and condolences to you all!
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My parents never said much about my filmscore music. I think they were grateful it wasnt led zep or black sabb.
One day i heard someone whistling Cheyennes theme from ouatitw and when i looked out the window it was my dad about to mow the lawn.
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My mum died 24 years ago, aged 40. I'm now 2 years older than she ever was. She liked films a lot. We'd always seem to miss the first 5 minutes though. Took me years before I saw the start of Crocodile Dundee 2. And Roger Rabbit. And... well, many films.
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My mother was a beautiful woman. She had modeled professionally in her twenties – a career cut short by the death of her father and the necessity of helping her mother when he passed.
She was also very creative – loved cooking, especially elaborate birthday cakes – and she crafted stories for us that she eventually wrote down and passed along in manuscript form when we were older. She’d invented a tribe of magical creatures that lived in our garden with a detailed back history – and had drawn illustrations for the manuscript. My sister’s son, and his young sons, now have copies. She worked for many years at a local radio station as a combination of office manager, continuity coordinator, and copywriter. For a while she co-hosted a talk show on the station.
When she developed multiple sclerosis, she met the disease head on – started exercising with greater effort and didn’t let it slow her down to any great degree. But then she discovered that she also had osteoporosis – and not soon after that she broke her right hip. The hip repair operation was a success, but within a few years she broke her left hip. And then, ironically, while in rehab recovering from her second hip surgery – the right broke again. Her back also developed issues as she had several damaged discs. After the third hip surgery, the pain she endured was tremendous. She refused to be wheelchair bound, though, and was determined enough to perambulate with a cane – or a walker for longer jaunts.
She was always cheerful, still beautiful, but then received even worse news. After some bad stomach pains had kept her in bed for days, she was diagnosed with very advanced liver cancer. She passed away 14 days after the cancer diagnosis.
My sister and I were home for her last days – which were very difficult as she had so much pain from her multiple physical issues that she had to be heavily medicated. When she agreed to hospice, she was resigned but not despairing. Her last lengthy conversation with me was a hopeful exchange – and her final guidance for me was, “I wish you didn't have so much fear.”
At the suggestion of the hospice staff, when she was released home for a few days, we let my Dad stay alone with her in the house where they’d lived their lives together so they could say goodbye properly. By the time we returned in a few days, she was in the hospice and unconscious. On the second day of the hospice, my sister and I were going home with my Dad for lunch – so we went to her bedside and each gave her a kiss. She suddenly seemed to emerge from the fog of the medication, looked at us both with awareness, and smiled. And then she said both of our names. She closed her eyes and fell back asleep. We got the phone call when we’d returned home that she had passed away shortly after we’d left the room.
The most beautiful thing I have ever seen was the smile of my mother. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard was her saying my name.
For Marcine Mae McMasters, April 10, 1928 – May 17, 1999
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