She claims that she wasn’t a good cook when they first got married, but he claims to not remember that. He says she was always pretty good. Well what does my dad know; he says I’m a good cook too.
I guess I’m an okay cook- I’ve managed to keep two kids alive for over a decade. I have not been so good for the last two years though. A little bout of depression tends to knock out any urge to eat let alone feed someone else. It’s getting better and eventually, I’ll be back at it. I do hope so because it’s very expensive to get someone else, like someone named Harvey or Wendy, to cook for you, and not real healthy either.
One of my greatest happinesses comes from a week at the farm with my folks, when my mom is on holidays. The kids I go out to the barn, saddle up and ride, clean tack, groom horses vigorously, shovel nasty stuff, throw hay around, pick up rocks, go 4 wheelin, run around in the junkyard with the dog...and when we come in, hungry and dirty, guess what? Granma’s got supper ready. It’s unbelievable. It’s a total fantasy existence. It’s unreal! I know that real life isn’t like that. I know that when I get my own little establishment, it won’t come supplied with Granma to cook for me.
But you know what? It sure is nice.
I appreciate her. Not everybody has a mother. I feel so blessed to have her in my life. I put her through the wringer when I was a teenager, and I’ve spent the last twenty years apologizing! Do you know how wonderful a person she is? She has never once wished the same kind of trauma on me! Never once has she announced that my kids will put me through the kind of trouble I put her through!
We’ve made some interesting discoveries this week.
She dug out some extremely precious old photos. My kids hadn’t seen them. My God, my mother was beautiful. She still is, but wow. There she was, at the beginning of 1971, holding her first baby. Perfect cheekbones, perfect nose, stylish hairdo, lovely smile, petite and fair skinned. A farmer’s daughter, and a farmer’s wife. She was a year younger than I was when I had my first baby.
I still, to this day, am sure that I will never be as pretty as she was or is!
But there are photos where we could be sisters...twenty years apart. Plus, my baby pictures look exactly like my Girl’s baby pictures!
What a miracle to be blood related to my mother. If someone else had birthed me she’d still be my mother but what an experience to look in the mirror and see a loved one.
Turns out we have more than looks in common.
I was telling her a story about a friend’s cottage with an unfinished loft. There’s no railing. I told her that I couldn’t go up there because I’d want to throw myself off of it. Just like in the barn. Not so much that I’m afraid of falling, but jumping!
She said it’s like a magnet to her, but, she avoids heights because she has vertigo. We noted of course that neither of us had ever given in to the urge to jump off the edge!
I told her about my oncoming traffic thing. That I often think that all I’d need to do is just, you know, give the steering wheel a quick jab and I’d be right into the car coming at me on the other side of the road. I could just do it. Right now. Crash!
Her eyes got big, bigger than usual. “Really? You get that too? I thought I was the only one! I never told anybody because I was afraid they’d think I’m crazy!”
Well, see, I KNOW I’m crazy. Still it was a relief to know where it came from!
This morning we were comparing what a crappy sleepless night we both had. I told her that sometimes when I’m really trying to relax, I wake up with a sore ear, like I was pressing it into the pillow.
Guess what. Yep. Not the only one!
I’ve been perched on a kitchen chair writing down her methods for a great meal. She'll follow a recipe, but always modifies it. Everything turns out. I’ve been writing it all down. When I was twelve, I was too busy goofing off with my ponies, or hanging around in the garage sanding primer on a car my dad was working on. I’ve got some catching up to do. Someday I hope my husband will tell my girl that I was, from the beginning a good cook. Like my mother!