Memories on Mother's Day

When I think about growing up, my thoughts always reflect on Mom’s sewing and cooking. Mom’s sewing skills were amazing and creative. A lot of her sewing was done without patterns or by putting patterns together. She knew what to do to make the pattern fit or how to alter the item as she was sewing, so it would fit. My sewing involved a pattern and the pattern had better be the right size, because I was clueless how to alter it to make it work. Many things were given away or trashed in frustration, which is probably the reason I didn’t sew more than what I did.

Mom made clothes with matching bonnets and panties for my dolls, and really sweet night gowns with matching slippers for me. One of my favorite things she made was an Indian costume for a play in elementary school. I’ll always remember looking at the other costumes and thinking mine was the best of all! Even as a teen, I loved the clothes she made for me and wore them with pride. From the clothes she made for me and my dolls, to my wedding dress, Mom was creative with her sewing and could make anything look store bought.

And Mom’s cooking... oh my goodness that lady could cook! I have so many wonderful childhood memories of meals that she so lovingly prepared. I can remember her reading books to me when I was little, while a pot of soup, stew, dried beans or rutabagas were cooking on the stove. Every day when Dad came home from work, our family would sit down and have supper together. In Mississippi, we didn’t have “lunch” and “dinner”, we had “dinner” and “supper.” And every meal came with a large pitcher of sweet ice tea.

Every Sunday morning Mom would get up, fix breakfast and dinner (lunch), and get four kids ready for church. We were always on time, and came home to a wonderful home cooked meal. My Sunday mornings with four kids were chaotic to say the least, and we always ran late to church. If I managed to prepare a meal before church, you can bet it wasn’t anything like the ones my mom prepared. Growing up, a typical home cooked meal on Sunday would be fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy and the works to go along with it. As a mom, my idea of a perfect Sunday dinner was to pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken with all the side dishes, and bring it home.

Every so often, we got a big surprise for breakfast. On those mornings Mom would say she SHOULD be giving us a healthy breakfast, but was giving us a treat instead. The treat was a yellow cake she baked covered with a “melt in your mouth” fudge frosting. That had to have been the best cake and frosting ever, as well as one of our favorite breakfasts.

And then there were Mom’s doughnuts. They were the best ever. She would make a big batch of them, glaze them with a powdered sugar glaze and we would devour them in no time. Another favorite was Mom’s fried apricot pies. She would take dried apricots, cook them down and add butter and sugar to them. Then she would get canned biscuits, roll them out, put the filling on one side, fold them over and fry them. We would eat them as soon as they were cool enough to touch.
It’s disappointing to have the best teacher in the world when it comes to cooking, and not even come close to being able to cook as well as she does. As much as I tried, my cooking can’t begin to compare to Mom’s. Not that her meals were fancy, they were just good, old home cooked meals. She never needed a recipe and could throw stuff together and make a mouth-watering dish. As for me, I use recipes and follow them to the letter. Where Mom took what she had on hand and created a wonderful meal, I went to the grocery store with my list, picking up the ingredients the recipe called for.

I am proud to say that I did learn to cook a few things from Mom. She taught me how to make “Chicken and Dumplings” from scratch, and the secret to making them - ice water. I can almost make “Chicken and Dressing” as good as she does, and I know that the secret to her spaghetti sauce is to add a little sugar. So many people liked Mom’s potato salad that we sat down one day and measured out the ingredients as she made it. Even with her recipe, mine doesn’t quiet measure up to hers. Truthfully I don’t think I’ve ever cooked anything Mom cooked, that tastes as good as hers.

I seriously think Mom’s sewing and cooking talents bypassed me and skipped a generation. My daughter is creative, has sewed some really cool stuff without a pattern, and can throw a wonderful meal together in no time, without a recipe. All this leads me to believe that one day Eisley will be writing about what an awesome, creative, mom she has. And hopefully the talents didn’t skip her generation!

Learning to Let Go

Wednesday afternoon we anxiously stayed near the phone waiting for the call from Chance letting us know his flight had landed and he was back in the states, after a six-month deployment. I hurriedly grabbed the phone when it rang and instead of hearing Chance’s voice on the other end, it was Creston asking if I had heard the news about my dad. He and Mom had gone to the post office to pick up a package and when Dad went to get the truck, he tripped on the sidewalk and fell flat on his face. Mom walked out to hear his cries for help and see his face a bloody mess. Some kind lady had already called for an ambulance and another couple stayed with Mom until my brother picked her up and drove her to the hospital. After several tests and getting his face stitched up, Dad was released from the hospital. He has to follow up with a plastic surgeon Tuesday because the bones around his eye aren’t “lined up right.” (mom’s words)

Two hours after we were supposed to hear from Chance, we finally got the phone call that we had been waiting on. He was in Baltimore for a layover and would be back on his base the next day. Two phone calls in one afternoon, both with completely different reactions, left me full of emotions. I had concern over Dad’s condition, compassion for Mom, and sweet relief that Chance was back from Afghanistan.

This afternoon was the first opportunity I had to go visit Mom and Dad and check on them since he fell. Dad is all bruised and sore and has a nice shiner on his right eye. With all that and not being able to wear his glasses, he looked a lot different than I’m used to seeing him. Other than being a little more confused than usual, he seemed to be his old cheery self, greeting me with a smile. I wasn’t surprised at all. That is my Dad. Take what life gives you and move on with a smile. And Mom? She was just as I knew she would be - wrecked with nervousness, worry and anxiety. No big surprise there either.

I sat today in the living room with Mom and Dad and realized that her world is slowly falling apart and she is in no way prepared. She has spent her life living in a “what if” world and not coping well when faced with a situation out of her control. This has been a way of life for her and the older she gets the worse she gets. I can’t remember my Mom going through a difficult time that she was not overcome with worry, stress and anxiety. I guess it was only inevitable that my life would be strongly influenced by her need for control and her worry issues. The older I get the more I see what it’s done to her and the more determined I am to not be like her. As I told Jim tonight, “At the end of the day I want God to look at me and say, ‘Good job Molly in trusting Me.’” I know there are many days that I fall short, but I’m also more aware than ever, that if I want peace I have to let go of the “what if’s” and place my trust in God. If “knowing” is half the battle, then the victory is mine!

Flying

For as long as I can remember, my mom has refused to fly on an airplane. In July of 1981, my brother and his wife asked her if she would fly to Dallas to give them some help after the birth of their third child. Knowing how she felt about flying, we were all surprised that she accepted his invitation and committed to her first plane trip, by herself no less! Little did we know that Ruth had some tricks up her sleeve. The day she was supposed to leave, Dad came home to drive her to the airport and found her MIA with a note left behind. A neighbor had taken her to the Greyhound Station and she was headed to Dallas on a bus. She had never been on an airplane and had no intention of getting on one. The trip that would have taken Mom less than three hours, took her about 30 hours. But she was happy. She was traveling by bus and not on a plane.

Mom was super content to ride the Greyhound back to Florida, but Dad messed up those plans. He flew to Dallas just so she would have a “flying partner” for the trip back. From what I understand, she was pretty much left without a choice and was not a happy camper on the flight home. Other than say she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t talk about the plane ride and I knew better than ask. That was her only trip to Texas and the first and last time I’ve known of her to do something against her will. I’m sure Dad learned a valuable lesson by the time their plane landed.

Like my mother, I hate flying. Wonder why??? I blame it on her and the way she’s always been about flying. Maybe if she had earned those “frequent flyer” miles and had been a world traveler I wouldn’t be so scarred for life?

Several years ago I figured out that my aversion to flying is more about control issues than anything else. Truth be known, it’s the same reason Ruth refuses to fly. We both have control issues and getting on a plane is putting us in a situation that is completely out of our control. When it comes to traveling I prefer to be in a car where you have options rather than on a plane. You can always stop a car at any given moment, whereas on a plane, there’s no stopping the trip. You have no clue what the flight is going to be like or what you might encounter. It doesn’t matter, you are stuck on that plane for the duration of the ride with no options. You have no control

I’d like to say that I’ve reached the point where flying doesn’t bother me, but it still does. In the past I would be a nervous wreck for days before the flight, have to take lots of meds for the trip and wouldn’t fly alone. Now I get antsy the day before, take very little medication and fly by myself. Each trip has gotten a little easier for me, but I still don’t like to fly.

Just when I had gotten past a lot of my flying “anxieties” I hit a new challenge. Jami asked me if I’d fly out of the Orlando Airport to Dallas and fly back with her and the kids. Just like Mom did years ago, I accepted the invitation, made the commitment and then wondered what I’ve gotten myself into. I’ve never been to the Orlando Airport, but I’ve heard enough to be intimidated by it. Ignorance truly is bliss!

I leave tomorrow and have to admit there has been some anxiety over this trip. I’m working hard to keep it under control. If I dwell on a situation, my mind will take me places I don’t want to go and it can get the best of me. I’m not allowing myself to think about this trip in any way other than it’s going to be an adventure, with the end result being nothing short of an awesome time. I’m keeping my focus on the “carrot” at the end of the trip, fun times with Jami, Matt, the kiddos and Brandon. To top it off, I'm going to get to visit with one of my favorite childhood friends that I haven’t seen in over 38 years!

Most of all, I’ve figured out the best cure for the jitters. Greyhound Bus= 30 hours. American Airlines=3 hours. Unlike Mom, Greyhound is not a consideration!