It has been a week, yesterday since Mom passed. This week has been a blur of planning, family, friends, and memories. My dad is now doing the "work" of all the cleanup. Calling people, cancelling cards, notifying the particular people that make up a life. The dirty stuff no one tells you about until you are in the throes of aftermath.
The service was beautiful and honored her in every way possible. She is now back with her father and her creator. She is set to other work until we meet again. A hole has been ripped in the fabric of our lives. A hole, that most likely will not be mended. One, like a hole in a moth-eaten quilt, that can perhaps be patched but, never healed. It will always be there like the hole in your coat pocket you forget about every year. The one the change slips out of, into the lining. Like the change, our memories will slip through the hole, through the patch in the tear. They will make themselves known to remind us that she is still with us.
Today we went to my Dad’s house. Setting plans to clean up and clean out and bless others with her clothes and extra items that he may no longer have use. One thing, the only thing I requested was her recipe box. The box itself was a Mother’s Day gift from my brother and me, circa 1977/78. We went to the flower shop and with our own money ordered flowers. They came in this box. The flowers were enjoyed. Daisies, of course but she cleaned it out and used that box for the remainder of her life. Filling it with her hand-written recipes and collected recipes from family and friends as well as recipe clippings from magazines, newspapers and the sides of boxes and bags. This was how my mom did things. She saw, she clipped, she saved. Then when the moment struck, she went back to the box to dig out that perfect recipe for that perfect dish for the occasion. I will now be the keeper of the box. But I will be making a cookbook of the recipes for my brother and my girls, complete with scanned copies of her handwritten cards.
The bowl you see in the background belonged to my mom but before that, belonged to my father’s mother and I believe her mother before her. It has been a mainstay in her kitchen for as long as I can remember. It was on a shelf, just above the recipe box. In a place of honor. A safe place where it would not chip or break but a place that was accessible to be used for mixing and blending. The bowl may seem ubiquitous and utilitarian in nature, but it is a symbol of my family and even when it is empty it is filled with the love of generations.
1 Cup good quality mayonnaise
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1/2 teaspoon celery seed
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cracked black pepper
February 21, 2019
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Hi! I'm Noreen, wife, mother of two amazing, almost grown, daughters, content creator, cook, baker and sister in Christ. Welcome to my Kitchen! I hope you stick around, enjoy the recipes and share them with those you love!