Since practically the beginning of time, bad jokes and disparaging adages have been applied to mothers-in-law. Every one from Joan Rivers to Hubert Humphrey has taken a shot.  There’s even a song, popular in the early ’60s, entitled appropriately enough Mother-in-law by Ernie K-Doe with lyrics that claim, “Satan should be her name.”  Ouch. 

Leona (Lee) Marie Schnebly, whom I called “Momlee,” was my Mother-in-law for almost 20 years. And she was the antithesis of these silly descriptives. 

I described my first meeting with Lee in my last post when my now husband, Lindsay, took me to meet his family on the occasion of Lee’s 70th birthday. Listening To My Elders As I detailed, she could not have been more generous with me. I was quite nervous, since I was pretty sure I was in love with this Schnebly character I was dating.  And Lee was an author!  And a therapist!  And the mother of my boyfriend!  She immediately complimented my shoes. And my diction, as I recall. And that was the start of a mutual admiration society. 

That’s not to say there weren’t things we disagreed about.  I love ritual and protocol, whether a Catholic Mass or a Presidential inauguration.  This kind of thing bored her to death.  I’m passionate about watching football, and she would rather be doing anything else. And she had grown tired of cooking and entertaining, having done it for over sixty years.  I was just learning how, even attempting to make the recipes she created for her family years before – weenies & potatoes and pork chops with “sinkers” aka dumplings, to name a few.  But these were small differences, really.

We both loved to sew. She even helped me make curtains for the office in our then new home — two dueling portable sewing machines (she drove hers out to L.A. from Tucson) on our dining room table, churning out panel after panel. 

Lee and I shared our love of a good discount store. SteinMart and T.J. Max became our go-tos when we were together. I still have a Fossil purse Lee insisted I buy, as well as a red faux Persian lamb coat.  She looked at me with that smile and insisted. How could I say no?

And we both were blonde. We even shared the same haircut when I was growing mine out after having shaved it off for a play.  Lee would always say with a twinkle in her eye, “A blonde in yellow is like sunshine.” 

A few years ago, I attended the Emmy Awards.  Lee and Larry were staying with us at the time. The process of getting ready reminded me of going to prom, and Momlee loved every minute of it.  At the end of the evening, when I came back home in my Uber, she was still awake. I climbed up on her bed and told her all about the night.  We agreed the free lipstick and mascara I received was one of the best parts.  Like I said, we both love a bargain.

Lee was a woman of many talents. She played piano like a savant. No sheet music required, just hearing the tune in her head meant she could play it. Oh, the sing-alongs. In fact, she started a sing-along group, The Star-Spangled Seniors, performing for assisted living facilities.  Dressed in red, white and blue, and singing songs of an era, this was Lee’s creation. Waking in the middle of the night, she heard God tell her to start the singing group.  And so she did, bringing entertainment to hundreds of seniors across Tucson, while being a senior herself. 

She raised four children, was married for nearly 70 years — to the same person!  A wall of Christmas card photos of the family graces the hallway of her home, a photographic timeline of babies, teens, marriages, grandchildren and great grandchildren (three and one, respectively). Decades of family stories are contained in those walls: like Lee secretly creating bunny paws with white shoe polish on the sidewalk on Easter morning; serving the kids Dolly Madison cupcakes in front of the television during Charlie Brown specials, and making Houska (a Czech sweet bread) as a birthday cake for you-know-who on December 25. 

She also survived colon cancer in 1989. And had been valiantly dealing with macular degeneration for over ten years. And while I know she would have loved to be able to read the paper or sew or even watch movies on TCM, she didn’t complain about her lack of sight. 

And the lions. Oh, the lions! I don’t know how many plush lions her bedroom holds, but let’s just say, it’s an extremely large pride, each one named. Oh — and TWO five-foot tall plush giraffes.  Yes, she loved the whimsical.

When Lindsay and I married, she never interfered or made me feel anything other than like a third daughter (having had two amazing ones on her own).  A number of years back, Lindsay became ill with the stomach flu.  It was pretty severe.  And so I called Momlee. “I’m worried about our boy,” I said. My comment wasn’t meant to be condescending toward Linds.   It was simply communicating concern to someone who loved her son from someone who loved her son.  We both had that in common, as well. 

Lee had an expression that I will never forget. And I don’t know that words on a page can express the rhythm and delight in her voice, but here goes. When she liked something or was excited about something, she would say, “so, so, so SO, so, so …”. Think of it like taking a running jump up to the capital ‘SO’ and then back down again.  For instance when she would come to visit us in Los Angeles she might exclaim: “I’m so, so, so, SO, so happy to be here.”  I can hear her say it right now as clear as day. 

And I know she was so, so, so, SO, so excited about going to heaven. She wanted to see her parents, and her husband Larry and her brother Paul and her son Lyle and her friend Sister Margaret and many others.  And she often talked about the glass of wine she would share up there with all of them, sitting at a bistro table covered with a red checkered cloth. I guess she was thinking Heaven has an Italian restaurant. Which it very well might. 

In a recent conversation when I interviewed her for this blog, I was struck by three things: 1) she loved her life, 2) she didn’t regret anything, 3) she felt like she did everything she wanted to do. Although she did admit to putting too much time and energy into crushes on boys when she was younger, “To no avail!” she added, with her lovely giggle, “but I loved the process.”  She summed up her life thus far like this: “I think I’ve been really lucky.  Each part of my life was wonderful.” 

Lee Schnebly passed away on November 13, 2023.  She was 91 years old.

And while I am heartbroken that she is no longer with us, I’m grateful her body is free from pain.  I can see her right now, sipping a glass of red wine at that bistro table, wearing a yellow polka dot dress and saying, “It’s so, so, so, SO, so lovely up here.” 

A blonde in yellow is, indeed, like sunshine.  I love you, Momlee. 
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