No Other Like My Mother

One of the earliest things I can remember in life is sitting in my mother's lap, face to face, on Sunday mornings in church.  Her small, efficient hands would rub my back and smooth my wildly curly hair while I rested my head on her shoulder.  Her Cherokee heritage showed in her dark complexion and black hair, and they contrasted strikingly with her cornflower-blue eyes.  When I was older, I'd see a similarity between her in her youth and a young Elizabeth Taylor, but as a child, I only saw that she was the source of all comfort and safety.  All these years later, I still see her that way, layered with thousands of memories that more than prove my trust and faith in her was well-placed.

"Mama" was all I called her until I was grown, as she did with my grandmother until she passed away.  It was a country word and one I loved and still use to address her once in a while.  "Mama" conjures up a young mother who bustled about, cooking, cleaning, and sewing all the time.  By the time I was six, she spent much of her time working on the house that she and Dad spent two years building, becoming a human dynamo like other mothers of that generation.  But I believe she was much, much more. 

How so?  Oh, only in a million ways.  For one thing, she (and Dad, too) taught us to build and keep family relationships with our extended family.  Though we lived 100 miles away from Pryor, where my parents both graduated, we all spent a weekend with my grandparents at least once every four to six weeks.  She was especially determined to make sure we knew them well, maybe because she grew up with her grandmother living in the same house with them.  Having my parents as role models in how to treat family led me to good relationships with virtually every member of my extended family. 

Mama was the disciplinarian.  I wouldn't say I was afraid of her; I respected her and rarely got into trouble because I KNEW she would follow through.  Never did I hear her say, "Wait til your father gets home," or any version of that.  Justice was swift and certain from her, and how I am thankful for that.  Every kid should have such a strong-minded mother to turn to and to respect. 

I learned to cook before I could see the top of a kitchen counter, partly because of my grandmother and great-grandmother, but mostly because of Mama.  She was an incredibly patient teacher.  I liked baking most, and she would let me pull up a chair to the counter and stir away.  She understood the most essential component of dealing with a creative process:  don't freak out.  I don't remember her ever gasping or fussing over some mistake; we just picked up the pieces of whatever it was, found a correction, kept on moving.  A few years later, as I began to learn sewing, we would occasionally get frustrated at each other, but that was my fault, because I hated it so much.  "Nope, you need to rip it out and do it over" was one of my least favorite sentences of all time, but she was always steadfast, calm, and sure of her decisions.  I've often envied that confidence over the years. 

We're something of a gypsy family, and Mama could box up everything our family of five would need for a summer at the South Dakota farm in the back of an International Scout, packing it in indestructible chicken-plant boxes under a false floor that Dad built to fit in the back.  She can pack anything anywhere, for that matter, and never waste an inch.  I didn't get the faintest hint of that ability, and oh, how I wish for it.

Mama doesn't consider herself a great cook, but we do.  I can't come close to her delicious flaky pie crusts, though I have the recipe.  Her chicken-fried steak (completely different from the impostor CFS in restaurants) is worth every last calorie.  She has the best sloppy joe recipe, makes mouth-watering roast, and turns out fried potatoes that are crisp without being greasy.  One of my favorite things she made when I was a kid was salmon croquettes, though we just called them salmon patties.  I've seen her can and preserve the bounty of country gardens---okra, green beans, corn, pickles---as well as all kinds of fish and game. 

Her family had very little extra of anything when she was growing up, so she learned to save and make do with anything and everything.  If clothing isn't good enough to be passed on to someone else when we need to be rid of it, it goes into a rag bag for the farm shop.  NO box that is suitable for gift-giving is allowed to leave the premises.  She doesn't save wrapping paper anymore, but bows are still subject to capture.  She learned that the old tissue paper from sewing patterns was good for window cleaning, and most of our patterns went to their ends that way rather than just being trashed.  Mama practically invented "reduce, reuse, recycle" in her entire attitude toward life. 

Most people who know our family well could already tell you most of what I have here.  What a lot of them don't know is that although Mom always appears very calm and collected, so practical and brisk, when it comes to her family, her husband right down to the youngest grandchild, she would crawl on broken glass for eternity if they needed it.  That's probably not so different from most mothers, but this one is mine.  Her heart is huge, soft and a little sentimental about us all.  She doesn't worry and carry on, but if something needs to be done, she just does it, no quibbling or questioning about it.  When I had pneumonia last fall, she showed up at my house and stayed for five days.  On the fourth day, I said I was feeling better and maybe would try to go to work the next day.  She didn't even look up from her cross-stitch she was doing.  "No," was all she said---and when Mama talks, I listen!  I trust her judgment implicitly. 

Today is her 71st birthday, and I don't get to see her because she and Dad have been off in Montana taking it easy for a much-needed couple of weeks.  But writing about her makes me feel a little closer to her.   She is my touchstone, my tape-measure of life and measuring cup for joy, both of which she has blessed me with.  I thank God for her and hope for another 71 years to continue to learn from and love her.