Where ya been?

Perhaps you’ve noticed, life has its ups and downs. Well, my last post here was just before my mom took a bad tumble and then everything changed.

I wrote the following as my weekly column in the paper just after she passed. I decided it was a more fitting tribute than any obit could be.

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December 2017:

In the grocery store this week, the woman behind me had masa and corn husks. I said, “I know what you’re making!” She lamented that her tamales were never quite as good as her mother’s. This may or may not have been true, though.

I had been shopping for a simple dinner for the gang, which was an old standby of my mother’s: The picnic dinner. She trotted it out whenever she needed stress-free entertaining and it always went over well.

When I announced the planned menu, my brother-in-law immediately asked if it would be “Trudy’s potato salad.” I assured him I was going to do my best to make it just like mom’s, a.k.a. Trudy. Although fairly basic, my mother’s potato salad was always raved about.

I never thought much about my mother’s cooking until I started going out in the world more. For example, once when I was away at a week of camp, the mashed potatoes were lumpy and horrible. Several of the girls commented with great excitement that they were “real” mashed potatoes. I was truly mystified, but then I had no idea “potato buds” even existed.

My mother was a career military officer’s wife back in the day, and that meant the care and feeding of four children, along with a plenty of entertaining. She managed it all with grace and humor — a natural hostess with the mostest. Although she didn’t love throwing big official parties, you’d never have known it.

I was in awe the time she rented dinnerware for 70 and conjured up a buffet for as many people in our house. Copious seeds for my future were planted via that particular soiree.

She did enjoy entertaining — that was not official protocol — and managed to float between head chef and sparkling guest with ease. We always had a few single serviceman at her gatherings and she was also quick with an invite for them to enjoy a home cooked meal. Her cherishing of others with food and her witty nature were an irresistible combo that are well remembered today by former recipients of her hospitality.

With the passing of years, I took over much of the cooking when I would come home for the holidays, but I’d still always let mom make the scrambled eggs. Her’s were the best and I just didn’t seem to be able to make them taste as good, but I kept trying.

In recent years, when I came to stay and look after mom, I eventually had to take over egg scrambling. Our roles had changed.

What is it about “mom’s” anything that makes it the best? Well, it’s that ol’ secret ingredient, love. A feeder’s love, a mama’s love — it just makes things taste better. So corny, so true.

As we companionably ate our breakfast a while back, mom commented that her scrambled eggs were perfect. I replied, “I learned from the best.”

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Yes, as a plant-based convert, I’m not scrambling eggs these days. I am trying to get back in the saddle with posts here, but WP updates have me scratching my head about adding recipes. Stay tuned.