I am going to date myself.  (No, not that kind of date!)

I am going to share a few tidbits about my mom, Estelle Ackerman Kaplan whose birthday would be this coming Sunday were she were still alive.

My parents bought a home in Forest City when I was two years old.  We moved out of their first apartment together, in Queens (the Kew Gardens section).  And, back in 1953, things were different than they are now.

The house was modest- it was a two bedroom, one bathroom ranch, with a pretty big lawn- but there was a full forest behind the house.  It was the “barrier” between the residence and the (then four lane) Southern State Parkway.

My dad realized that living so far from Manhattan, he would end up working from home in the evenings.  As such, he needed a business telephone line, so he could communicate with his fur matching customers.  (That phone number was Sunset 1-5116.)   That situation obtained for about a week.  Why was that phone number just his business line for a week?  Because my mom wanted to use the phone and was blocking my dad from calling.  She was perpetually using the phone.  So, despite the costs of about $ 25 a month for a party line (folks- it’s 1953!   That’s a lot of money!), my family had two.  [The second number was Sunset 5-3291.]

Oh, wait, no.  The costs were much higher than that.  Because while most folks used party lines (which meant anyone could listen in to your phone calls- and could request that you hang up so they could make a call), my mom didn’t follow the rules. (See above.)

Since my dad was discussing business, his firm opted to pay for the very expensive private line.   My mom felt entitled to have the same sort of provisions- but she was on a party line (which was the common connection- and those costs were much lower than the private line for which my dad’s company paid). But, the other folks on the second line demanded that my mom get divorced from the party line and get her own private line.

With which my family complied.  And, from then on, my mom was pretty much on the phone from the early morn until my dad returned from New York, and then spoke to other friends in the evening, after we finished dinner.

My mom not only spoke on the phone, she smoked cigarettes.  Finishing a carton almost any weekday.  Those are among the earliest memories I have of my mom.

My mom was a stay-at-home mom for about a decade, until she learned to drive a car.  (You do recall that many New York City residents never drove a car, preferring to use mass transportation instead.)  And, once my mom was driving, she would be out of the house right after my brother and I marched to our bus stop.

My mom’s occupation?   She started out as the store manager for a wallpaper manufacturer.  (Yes, it also meant she got new wallpaper for the rooms of our house.)   On weekends, she sold accordions and accordion lessons- until she graduated to selling World Book Encyclopedia.

(Maybe I should divert a little and tell you my mom managed to be the highest ranked civilian at the Army headquarters situated at Governor’s Island, New York City, when she graduated from Tilden High School in Brooklyn.  Her team survived until the Pentagon opened, got a computer, and replaced her entire team of women by a single IBM computer.)

Then, she became a teller for a local bank, Meadowbrook bank. I always thought that funny, since mom was terrible at math and I wondered how she balanced her till each night.  (Oh, wait, she rarely did!)

In short order, my mom found a position that let her capitalize on her gift of gab.   She became a placement officer for a temporary employment agency.  And, she was the star of the show; in short order, she was among the executives of the firm.  The first woman executive, I might add!

And, her second job?  My mom capitalized on her gift of gab yet again, by parlaying her success losing 30 pounds at Weight Watchers in short order (to help her look like the Queen of the Ball for my bar mitzva) to become one of the first lecturers Jean Nidetch (the founder of Weight Watchers) ever employed.  And, like her success at the employment agency, my mom had a tremendous following at Weight Watchers.

You could never accuse my mom of being lazy.  Being on the phone all the time- you bet.  But, lazy, no freaking way.

Happy birthday, mom.  I know your two granddaughters have great thoughts about you.  Your grandson never got enough time to know you well enough.

(My mom suffered a series of mini-strokes (she thought she just tripped over her four inch heels and fell flat on her face) two days before my younger daughter’s bat mitzva.  She was convinced to come and celebrate.  Which she did and then some.  But, when she flew home after the celebration, she went right to the hospital, where she spent the next 60 or so days before she passed away on a minor Jewish holiday.)