All That I Am or Hope to Be

I went out to Gilbert today with Francie.  That seems to be the day I can take Mom grocery shopping.  She makes her list and in between the ailes I put pieces together about life with her and Dad.  This week we looked for canned sweet potatoes because Dad likes them.  Last week we learned that the 5 lb bags of old bananas Dad loves (not sure if it's because they are $ .25 or because they're not completely brown yet) will no longer be sold at Safeway.  They'll now go to the food bank.  (We gently broke the news to him!)  We also carefully chose frozen entrees to try; Dad, not being a fan of rice.  It pleases me the way Mom loves the produce section.  I can imagine her little "spreads" at meal or snack times.  She still writes out a check for payment, or she'll pull out exactly the right amount of cash Dad has provided for her, with her slowing fingers.  She laughs with Francie and I get a glimpse of her upcoming week.

When we got home, there was Dad.  He has been down (physically and "in the dumps") because of a very painful shingles episode in his left eye.  He always gets up and dressed, but has been unable to drive (I know, he's 89!), or read, or garden, or go home teaching, or church.  This eye thing has taken a lot out of him.  So, he has been home, trying to stay busy; but miserable.  We sat down at the bar and as I fed Francie,  Dad and Mom sat across from me.  I got ready for his stories.  But instead, he began to explain his gratitude for things being done around him that, before the eye setback, had gone unnoticed.  How, reaching for a clean towel, it occurred to him that someone had washed and folded that towel.  Or someone had put a place mat down before the meal (Dad has a thing for place mats).  He was talking about Mom, and all the things in her 84 year old life that she still does for him.  Mom angelically smiled.  

Next Sunday is Mother's Day.  I'm thankful for her example of selflessness, among hundreds of other perfect qualities.  And I'm so thankful to call her mine.  Don't think I don't still take notes, like on our Thursday grocery shopping trips.  I love them and I love her!

"All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel Mother"  (Abraham Lincoln)

PS.  As we visited, we realized that today is her Mother's birthday (Maude Groberg Neeley - Grandma Neeley).  I'm pretty sure she was listening in with us, too.  

TBT

Today a piano lesson came.  Samantha.  I have taught her for years.  Now she's in high school.  Her mother usually comes in with her, or sits in the car parked in the shade.  But today, no mother.  I could see the car parked in front of the house. Still no mother.  My thoughts soon gave me to know she had driven herself; only having had her license since Tuesday (2 days ago).  I was happy for her.  Anybody that still takes piano lessons through high school automatically is a good driver (among other good things)!

Then it hit me.  On this Throw Back Thursday, I had a flash back to when I was 16.  Guess where I drove on my first solo drive?

Piano lessons.

8th Grade Home Ec

When I was in the 8th grade at Ingleside Elementary School, I had my first experience with a home ec class.  My teacher's name was Mrs. Welker.  She was a big woman (not overweight, just boxy).  She had light hair and glasses and was older than my mother.

We learned sewing from her, hence the little gingham waist apron with ties and a contrasting pocket.  She also told us a story that will haunt me forever, about her room mate in school that got down on her hands and knees to look for a fallen hat pin and ended up stabbing it right into her knee when she went down.  (Maybe it wasn't a hat pin, but the story was so graphic, I only imagined "big"!.)  I still think of that poor girl every time I'm tempted to get on my knees for a pin or needle hunt.

We learned how to entertain, using proper etiquette, the Mrs. Welker way.

 And at Christmas time, we learned how to make and preserve pyracantha jelly, using our own collected pyracantha berries.  My Grandma Ruth was especially impressed.  I think she made the little jar last for a long time.  She always had toast.

And I'll never forget the day Mrs. Welker taught us how to make eclairs.  It was a tedious project and we took great care.  After making and baking, we were ready for the rich cream filling.  I held up the fluffy long john so carefully to see the air in between.  Then, aiming just right I continued to carefully squeeze the cream inside.  My aim was pretty good, except for the little yellow blob that plopped right down my front.  I was wearing a navy blue wool-like jumper.  It had buttons going down the long waisted bodice on each side.  Then there was a belt.  That's where it landed; right on the silver buckle, against the fabric.  Goop into every nook and cranny of the buckle.  It couldn't be washed out easily.  So, I rubbed it the best I could and spent the rest of the day looking down at the yellow smudge that permanently marked my front. . .  Don't ask me where my apron was!

It's funny what I remember about life back then.  That was the year I also gained another little brother, who I knew would be a girl.  Such vivid memories.  Life was good.  Smeared cream filling and all!