A Glimpse into my Young Life via Recollections of my Mother

Tonight, we attended an event planned by one of our PWOC leaders.  It was billed as a night of "Soul Food."  What is soul food to an American?  It could range from the traditions thought to be attributed to our African American families, or Cajun food from the Louisiana section of our country, or it could be southern food or who knows what else?  This night happened to be southern traditions, so the menu consisted of such items as fried chicken, pulled pork, chicken and dumplings, greens, black-eyed peas, cornbread, an array of desserts, and sweet tea (plus so many other ethnic dishes).  One of my friends came up to tell me bye as we were leaving, and she asked if I had made the peach cobbler.  I laughed and told her "yes, but if my mother had known that I made an easy"--you know, one of those where you mix equal amounts of flour, sugar and milk and then pour the fruit and juice out of the can on top of it and stick it in the oven--"peach cobbler and passed it off as southern soul food, she would have not been impressed!"

My mother was a wonderful cook!  That was not her only awesome attribute, but she was such an accomplished creator of good, wholesome and tasty food that I grew up in her shadow and have always felt a bit inferior when it comes to cooking.   She could whip up a meal (make a horrendous mess with about every pot and pan and dish in the kitchen dirtied), put it on the table family style, and be gracious enough to make everyone feel so valued.  I grew up eating meat, veggies, bread, dessert and drinking sweet tea every evening.  If she didn't have a dessert like Coca Cola cake, fruit cocktail cake, pecan pie, etc., she would open a Jiffy yellow cake mix and make a single layer cake and pour a hot chocolate sauce that she made "from scratch" over it!  That hot cake with hot chocolate sauce surely was at the inception of my lifelong chocolate addiction.  She did all of this after she had worked a full day in a local garment factory!  We always ate dinner about the time that the evening news came on, so my dad insisted that we only talk during commercials so he could hear the news, but my mom and I would make faces and laugh quietly while my dad would shake his head in condemnation and really was so aggravated that he could have spit nails!  I am chuckling now as I remember those times around our family table each evening.

A couple of funny cooking stories come to mind as I remember my mom in the kitchen.  Every Sunday, almost, we drove to church 20 miles from our home, and the preacher at that church usually was a Free Will Baptist Bible College student who just drove from Nashville to preach at our little country church Sunday morning and Sunday evening.  That meant that he and his family, if he were married, had to eat somewhere and as he was a student and as our church had little to no money, my mother considered it her responsibility to prepare food for our family and for that of the preacher.  I always thought that that college student preacher got a good deal out of that since it included my mom's cooking!  Anyway, Sunday mornings were very hectic cooking, packing it all in the car, and arriving at church to lead the singing and teach Sunday School classes and anything else that needed to be done.  One Sunday night, we returned home, we carried the dishes into the house, my mom began washing them, and I heard her say, "Well, who put this spoon in here?" and I could just hear her howling with laughter!  My dad and I went into the kitchen to find my mom with a obviously dirty spoon in her hand wrapped up in a paper towel with the refrigerator door standing open!  In all of the racing around that morning, she had wrapped the spoon and put it in the frig with no rhyme or reason and all she could do at this time was stand, albeit doubled over, laughing so hard that her eyes disappeared into slits with tears rolling down her face!  We joined her!  (In case you are wondering, she had her full brain capacity at death).

The other story that I remember is that she decided to make teacakes.  She did this one Friday night (thank goodness), and she used a recipe that she had never used before.  They were simple "cake like" cookies with this wonderful vanilla induced aroma and taste.  The only problem was that it was somewhat like the event when Jesus took the 5 loaves and 2 fishes, blessed them and broke them and fed the crowd of 5,000+ women and children. . .well, my mom made teacakes until almost 11:00 that night and filled every container that she could find in our vast kitchen that had a lid.  Needless to say, we ate teacakes until we were sick of them.  We laughed about that for years, but she never made those teacakes ever again during her short 62 years of life!

ONCE A MOTHER, ALWAYS A MOTHER!

Being "mother" to furry babies has its moments just as stressful and/or wonderful as when my children-- now 24, 26, and 38--were growing up!  This morning around 6:30, I was thrilled that my husband got up and took the boys out for their morning walk!  Yes!  I could actually sleep in!  Soon, though, Huck had finished his morning contribution, so Roy brought him back in and continued on around the block for a second time with Finn who had not been as quick on the draw.  Huck came bounding up the stairs with his tongue hanging out, as is typical with him, and making significant noise as he hit the steps and jarred me from my sleep when he came to a stop on the bed with his front paws planted solidly on my body as if to say "I'm here, mama!  Get up, Get up, Get up!  Let's play."  By the time I made it downstairs, Roy and Finn were back in the house.  We each moved to different spots in the house as the boys began their morning ritual of running through the house chasing each other and wrestling each other to the ground.  But then things got quiet.  As a mother,  I hated to hear that sudden total silence in the house when my children were playing in one room, and I was working in another.  That lack of noise always signaled the need to go check on Ben and Rachel (only 21 months apart in age and "partners in crime" growing up).  As I advanced around the staircase from the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the front door.  Seeing it open about an inch, I knew that Huck and Finn had gone out of the door that my precious husband, who had tried to give me a gift of sleeping in,  had inadvertently left unsecured!  Roy and I saw that they were missing about the same time, so we both ran out of the door clapping our hands and calling "Huck, Finn, where are you?"  As I made it to the right corner of our block, I could see Roy down the street at the opposite corner, and the boys were nowhere to be seen!  I imagined the worst!  My thought was that they would dart out into one of the streets in front of a car, and I would hear the screech of tires as the life was being snatched out of both of them!  Roy later told me that he imagined that someone would pass by and see them and notice how cute they are and steal them away from us!   Reflecting upon this later, I remember how when my children were small, I would sometimes in my mind's eye see one of them being hit by a car, or drowning, etc.  Later, as they became teenagers and they began to drive, if they were late coming home, I could not help thinking of  the negative possibilities.  Wow!  all of my children are grown, and here I am still worrying!  It was, however, with the greatest of joy that I saw two little white bodies joyfully racing around the corner to meet me!  They were basking in the sunshine of freedom and had no awareness of the great danger that lurked around that corner!  I shouted down the street making Roy aware that I found them and as we all four made it back into our front door, the joy of finding them safe and sound outweighed the concern over how totally foolish we might look and sound running up the street, I still in my pajamas, yelling and pleading!   I also had to thank God none of our neighbors were anywhere close (or they would have for sure called the canine social services) when about 8 days before, at the entrance of Yellowstone Park, Finn decided to jump out of the open window of our truck just as Roy was pulling away from the curb where we had stopped to view some elk.  I had no time to think this one through as my hand shot out and caught him by the tail.  I looked down to see him suspended by his tail in midair with all four legs spread out in different directions each flailing to reach the ground just before I pulled him back into the truck to safety.  Whew!  This is too much for my aged self!  But this morning as I thank God for the safety of our four-legged babies, I realize a couple of things:  first, "once a mother, always a mother," and, second, our Heavenly Father must see the foolish decisions that we make going through life with no thought of danger and believing ourselves invincible while darting out of open doors or windows thinking we have it all under control. I imagine Him rolling His eyes and shaking His head from side to side in disbelief as He goes to any length to save us from ourselves!  I have to stop and say, "Thank you, dear Father, for watching over our family all of these years and keeping us safe!  Amen"