Ellen Teresa "Tess" Hurley Cowan

April 20, 1930 - January 7, 1997
My mother was an embarrassingly bad driver, opting to play it safe and always drive 25-or less. I remember her daring move one afternoon driving on the 101, when she tried to impress us by driving over 45 mph. She proudly honked and tried to draw attention to her extraordinary boldness as normal drivers flew by us. It was humiliating. And forget about making a left hand turn. Instead she would make a series of right turns, completely impractical and often going far out of the way, until she finally got to her destination. Getting anywhere took twice as long as it should have. If we happened to approach a Catholic Church around one of those right hand corners, we knew the speed would decrease even more in order for her to make the Sign of the Cross as we passed by. If we happened to see a police car on the road, she would refer to them as The Fuzz, or say, "I smell bacon."

I'll never understand her love for Star Trek, or Agatha Christie & Maeve Binchy books. I do however, completely understand her love for Dark Shadows, and Mandy Patinkin in The Princess Bride; he's good even in those commercials for that cholesterol drug. The volume at which she listened to The Three Tenors was unacceptably high. And she had the hots for Julio Iglesias and Andrea Bocelli, but tried to downplay her affections because my dad didn't find them as appealing. To our surprise and pleasure, she also listened to The Eagles, and knew all of the words to Hotel California and Lyin' Eyes. If we were in the car when those songs came on, we would sing along at the top of our lungs. She was quite pleased with herself and her familiarity with rock music. Musicals were another favorite and I like to think that some of us now appreciate (love) the The Music Man, Oklahoma and South Pacific because of her.

She was somewhat of a domestic goddess. She loved parties and had the greatest St. Stephen's party for years. She would cook and bake things that our friends didn't get: Bakewell Tarts, Beefsteak & Kidney Pie, Irish Soda Bread and Trifle. They were good. Even the kidneys..and those rubbery eggs. I still have her handwritten Irish Soda Bread recipe with her funny directions about tacky and sticky and the acceptable temperature of your hands. And when I share that recipe, I remember what she quietly told me: NEVER give somebody your EXACT recipe; it would be tragic for somebody else to make it just as good! She loved Port, Harveys Bristol Cream Sherry, and an occasional Tom Collins. The Cream Sherry, as I recall, was an occasional back up if we ran out of cough syrup. And there was no better cure when sick than staying home and watching a game show or soap opera and being served toast and tea.

Why was it that she could do beautiful embroidery but could barely sew a straight stitch? I am convinced that had she admitted that her eyesight was not perfect and worn proper glasses, she would have been a better seamstress. Instead she chose to visit Longs Drug Store and pick up about a dozen Dr. Dean Edell reading glasses. There was something very unnerving about the way she looked with those on the end of what she called her 'Patrician' nose. They didn't help. And neither did the little magnifying glass that became a companion to whatever science fiction or mystery book she was reading. Or, when feeling more prayerful, one of her many Pope John Paul I biographies or a dog-eared prayer book. And speaking of prayers, it was also fodder for jokes when we would hear her watching Mother Mary Angelica of the Annunciation and praying the Rosary along with the TV. I still laugh when I see that on television...in a non-critical and loving way.

My mother never shopped at Sears: she said they only sold polyester and she didn't like polyester. Other things she wouldn't wear: white shoes and Barbie-pink lipstick. Things she loved to wear: earrings and hats. She had beautiful hair and wore it the same way, twisted up in a bun, for years and years. She would secretly use a hair dye 'crayon' to hide her gray roots. She had fantastic eyes and a beautiful voice. (Even in grade school and high school, my friends would tell me they liked to hear her sing in the Choir, especially if she did a solo.)

She assigned chores for us, especially in the summer and we would promptly fight over who got the easier job. She forced Teresa, Maeve and me, to join the Legion of Mary and make Rosary Beads on Saturday mornings in the school library. I was lucky not to be chosen to go to a coffee shop with the leader of the Legion of Mary, but my sisters were...courtesy of our mother. She was just as persistent about the Children's Choir. I was promptly moved from the front row to the back, a safe distance from the microphone, and given the xylophone to play. We had constant babysitting jobs and housecleaning for friends or anyone she thought needed the help. And on several occasions we would return home to find her consoling yet another person she barely knew, but couldn't and wouldn't refuse to help.

She was a daughter, nurse, wife, mother and grandmother. She was proud to be Irish and liked to speak Gaelic with our father.(Once in a while, she would answer the phone and find a prank caller on the other end; she would say the Our Father in Gaelic, in a slow, quiet chant and the caller would hang up. It even scared us.) She was a loyal friend and confidant, giving and unselfish and kind. She worked hard for years, out of necessity. But I imagine she would have worked hard even if she never had children. There was not a lazy or mean bone in her body. Before she died, she prepared her own obituary. It was short and simple and she wrote, "She will be sorely missed." She was so right.

A Little Parable for Mothers

by Temple Bailey

The Young Mother set her foot on the path of life.

"Is the way long?" she asked.

And her Guide said: "Yes. And the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But the end will be better than the beginning."

But the young Mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed with them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and life was good, and the young Mother cried, "Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."

Then night came, and storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the Mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said "Oh Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come," and the Mother said, "This is better than the brightness of day, for I have taught my children courage."

And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and the children climbed and grew weary, and the Mother was weary, but at all times she said to the children, "A little patience, and we are there." So the children climbed, and when they reached the top, they said, "We could not have done it without you, Mother." And the Mother, when she lay down that night, looked up at the stars, and said: "This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage. Today I have given them strength."

And the next day came strange clouds which darkened the earth-- clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the Mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the Light." And the children looked and saw above the clouds an Everlasting Glory, and it guided them and brought them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said, "This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God."

And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years and the Mother grew old and she was little and bent. But her children were tall and strong, and walked with courage. And when the way was hard, they helped their Mother; and when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond the hill they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.

And the Mother said: "I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know that the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone, and their children after them"

And the children said, "You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates."

And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her. And they said: "We can not see her, but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a Living Presence."





I think she would loved this-the performance and the message: