My mother liked to celebrate a lot. She just came alive for the holidays. By far, Groundhog’s Day was her favorite.

If she hadn’t hated the south so much, (that was generational hatred, another story for another day), my mother would have been a snowbird. Instead, she lived in the North and dreamed of Spring.

Groundhog’s Day really resonated with her. She’d throw parties, complete with a piece of faux fur in a cradle–representing a groundhog, of course. Eventually, she turned the fur into a stuffed groundhog. That was right around the time she stopped throwing the parties.

She and my father had different ideas of a party. My mother liked theme parties where people sat around talking and laughing about the theme, complimented her on the food, and generally enjoyed each other’s wit.

My father liked parties with music, drinking, cards, and dancing.

Their guest lists clashed. The last Groundhog’s Day party went something like this: My mother’s guests oohed and ahhed over the newly made stuffed groundhog. They admired the cake that looked like a groundhog peeping out of the snow. They mused about whether the groundhog’s prediction was right. And it isn’t it so funny? Like ironic humor? That the groundhog either predicts 6 more weeks of winter or spring right around the corner? Like isn’t that the same thing anyway, tehe? Especially in Michigan, where you’d be getting off easy if you only had 6 more weeks of winter after Feb. 2.

My father’s guests were not amused. They wondered what was up with celebrating a groundhog, and is that all the food you got, and there’s too many white folk here. .. all of these things voiced loudly by people that were not really invited, or at least not by my parents. . .

So that killed it. My mother tried to resurrect the Groundhog’s Day party as a fundraiser for the Jr. Symphony the year we went to Vienna. We made a 6 foot tall groundhog out of chicken wire, covered with tissue paper for that event. It didn’t go, though. It was hard to sell raffle tickets to a Groundhog’s Day party? Even with a picture of the 6 foot tall animal and some of we young musicians in the paper we didn’t sell enough tickets to throw the party.

So Groundhog’s Day kind of retreated to the background. At my mother’s funeral, one of my father’s guests reminded us of the parties. He was amused at how she celebrated what he considered a garden pest. He eloquently evoked the whole atmosphere of my mother’s parties, lightening the whole mood of the funeral.

I think she would have been surprised at the impact she’d made.

I also think she would have gotten a kick out of PETA’s asking Pucksatony to use an animatronic groundhog. Something about that would just set her off laughing, I’m sure. She wouldn’t even be able to explain why. I’ve heard both sides of that argument. Some say that Pucksatony Phil is the best cared for groundhog around, living in a heated burrow, fed the best of food, never abused. . ., while others say that groundhogs should be hibernating now, and they’re just exploiting the poor animal, etc.

But I thought Groundhogs came out on that one day? Isn’t that the whole point of the day? Why stop at a robot groundhog? Why not a talking one? Why not Chuck E. Cheese, while we’re at it? Can you spell tacky?

I digress. Groundhog’s Day was just a light, fun little holiday. My mother was known for it. I just got a comment today from someone who googled Groundhog’s Day looking for my mother. That’s a pretty cool legacy, I guess.

What kind of legacy will you leave?