Monday was my dad's 78th birthday! As a surprise, Frank and I gave him a slide digitizer (of which I'll have to help him use). He and my mother had wanted me to help them organize all the slides my dad took when we were kids. In the 60's we lived in Scotland, England and Greece. So there are numerous slides of the memories my family made while living in those locations. I was barely 6 months old when it began (Scotland) and just out of kindergarden when we left Crete. Just after Jameson was born (1989), my sister had one of the slides of me, my mom and my sister standing by a bunch of wildflowers in Crete, Greece made into "Mother's Day" photos and framed them as gifts for all of us. I still have that. It is a precious picture hung prominently in my house.
This is a hard time of the year for my dad. And, until today, I thought I'd be okay. But, I'm not. I miss my mom. I miss all the fussing in the kitchen we'd do just about this time of the year. When I was younger, I was always in the way...but she had jobs for me to do. Mostly, those jobs involved washing dishes. But, every now and then, I suppose as I grew older, the jobs increased and changed to actual cooking. Having just spent Thanksgiving with my sister and her family in Colorado, I realize I am more like my mom than I thought.
Mom was always slow and methodical with her cooking. The joy for her was in the process. Sure, the final product of us all around the table stuffing ourselves with Christmas goodness was a joy for her...but not so much as the preparation, I now believe. She had this list in her head and timetable in her molecular structure that just "knew" when things were supposed to get started, stirred, chopped, diced, etc.
I've been going through my mom's recipes trying to capture the exact replicas of the deliciousness she produced at this time of the year. This Christmas is going to be a lot harder than I thought. With each tried and true recipe comes the narrative of my mom's added comments, handwritten in her distinct, precise, small handwriting. She's even drawn hearts! Not too frequently, she comments on who in our family really liked a particular recipe. Sometimes, I see notes written in my dad's hand (those must have been more recent, when mom wasn't cooking so much as supervising).
Just after mom died, I had this elegant idea I'd create a "memorial" recipe book and hand it out to family and friends at Christmas this year. It wasn't that I've never gotten around to it...as it was more like I kept putting it off. Now I know why. It is just too hard right now. Maybe it will be too hard next year too. Eventually, I'll do it...I know I will. It will be a joyful project and a great legacy to pass down to the generations to come.
It is as if each recipe has a story to tell all on its own.
Take the "Chinese Eggrolls" recipe I recently emailed to my sister and cousins.
I think this 2-day process of eggroll making is the southern version of making tamales in latin households. (By the way, mom and I always wanted to learn how to make tamales. We love them equally. Sadly, we never did.)
Reading that recipe reminds me of when my Aunt Mary (mom's sister) and my cousins, Beverly & Missy lived with us. There were 2 adult women, 4 teenaged gals, spanning in ages from 11-19, 2 boy dogs, a few parakeets (sex unknown) and my dad living in a 3 bedroom 2 bath house. As I recall, it never seemed crowded to me. But, we were always doing something and it was a big production.
Enter the Eggrolls.
Mom would "announce" she was planning to make eggrolls. Our stomachs would rumble and quiver with the anticipation of the delicious eggrolls. Then, an errie quiet would descend as we "recalled" the episodic experience the last time we made eggrolls. Only Judy and mom were morning people. The rest of us? We'd sleep in til noon (if allowed). Mom's idea of making eggrolls was engaging all of our cutting, cleaning and cooking talents. She, like a 5 star General, would order us all around to our various tasks (and the sun would be barely creeping onto the horizon!). The joy of the eggroll product could not last forever in the process of making them. Eventually, one of us would be too slow or not chop as precisely as she thought...and suddenly mom turned into a "soup nazi" type personality! She'd start fussing and taking over whatever job we'd been assigned. I now know, it was hot in that kitchen, mom was tired and just was done already. Then, however, we'd be in fear of our lives...and worse...fear of a "no eggroll for you!" declaration...
There were lots of giggles. Lots of "testing" the final product before all were called to feast on the divine eggrolls.
I really can't go on writing about this right now. I get that happy/sad lump in my throat and I have way too much to accomplish today to be interrupted by a good cry.
It is odd that I seem to understand my mom now, moreso than when she was alive. All the "I wishes" populate my heart and mind when I think about my mom now. As mom used to say, "if wishes were horses, we'd all go riding." I will linger a while longer on this particular memory lane. It is a tad overcast with the clouds of unfulfilled conversations I should have had with my mom...but it is still a sweet lane of loving memories, noisy laughter and delicious food accentuating each moment in time.
I love you mom and I miss you daily.
