It’s the little things that you take for granted. Sometimes so common or understated you don’t even notice. Maybe it’s because it’s the way things always were. Maybe it’s because it’s the way things would always be. Those things that were always the same. Sometimes special, sometimes everyday normal. Sometimes just expected. Things taken for granted, yet in retrospect, were the things that always came to mind.
She didn’t want things, but she wanted you to have things. She would never have touched a cup of coffee or glass of tea, yet she would make it for him. Until he stopped drinking them for health reasons.
She sewed. An old Singer. Not a fancy one, but well loved and taken care of. She made dresses, blouses, repaired rips, tears and replaced buttons. In the department stores, you’d find her in the fabric section, carefully looking for a bargain on cloth, and tirelessly studying pattern options. McCall’s. Butterick. Simplicity. She had shoe boxes full. Trends and styles didn’t really matter. And she didn’t care if “all of the other kids wear them.” No. Quality took precedence over style. And you can bet your life “You’ll grow into them” was something heard too many times. With all of that, she’d sew on Cub Scout badges and patches, carefully aligning them to make sure they were straight.
Sundays were tough. Church was important. And you were going with a fresh scrubbed face, plastered down hair and a clip on tie. And no, it didn’t matter how the other kids came to church. Maybe the things weren’t the best, but they would be the best they could be.
You wouldn’t find steak on the table. Well, she was convincing when she called hamburger “steak.” Sundays were the big meal. Maybe a roast with potatoes and carrots. Slow cooked to perfection. She didn’t do all of the cooking, but she could cook. And for family reunions or get togethers, she started days in advance. Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. And some type of Jell-O concoction of either strawberry or cherry Jello-O with diced chunks of Philadelphia Cream Cheese and chopped pecans. Pecan pies. Real banana pudding. On Saturdays, sometimes she would take canned biscuits and tear a hole in the middle and fry them for donuts, iced with a powdered sugar/hot water glaze. No, they weren’t great donuts, but, they were the best. Maybe it was the “love” ingredient. To her, a BLT with a milkshake was a great meal. She worked in a drugstore during her high school years. Maybe that was something they served and it reminded her of her youth.
Hershey bars. No, Hershey bars with Almonds. And Almond Joy, not Mounds. She liked the almonds. But it was Milky Ways, not Snickers that she preferred. If she had a real vice, it was chewing gum. Doublemint was okay, but Juicy Fruit was what you found most often hiding at the bottom of her purse. And she popped the gum. After visits to her mother’s house, she’d stop at Don’s Quick Stop and get a treat. Maybe a soda. Maybe a candy bar. Maybe both. And while she was never one to do foolish things, on those trips to her mother’s house, she’d turn onto the last highway, floor the accelerator to the top of the hill, and see how far the car would coast on the way down and back up the next hill. Maybe that’s her one crazy stunt.
Maybe her other big habit was Coca Cola. 6 ½ oz bottles. She’d carefully open it, and if there was a “chip” in the bottle, she’d strain it through a tea towel. He would take ice cubes and beat them with the back of a butter knife. She liked crushed or chipped ice.
One other vice. The beauty shop. Every Thursday after work. She didn’t schedule an appointment. She had an appointment. Every Thursday after work.
You wouldn’t find a record collection or fancy stereo in the house, but she’d iron with the radio playing. She liked Lawrence Welk. And if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was on...well, life stopped until the performance ended. Later on you’d find that she had acquired Ferrante & Teicher albums. Montovani. And of course, Mormon Tabernacle Choir albums. He had Jerry Clower. She tolerated him watching football. Westerns. Things of which she had no interest. Yet, she’d sit there, just to be there, not somewhere else.
She didn’t have a college degree, but she was educated. Over the years, she worked several jobs. A title clerk at a car dealership. She sold rail cars and truckloads of asphalt at the refinery. And her final job was as secretary to the county judge. Several of them. But her most important jobs were being a wife and a mom.
She sewed. An old Singer. Not a fancy one, but well loved and taken care of. She made dresses, blouses, repaired rips, tears and replaced buttons. In the department stores, you’d find her in the fabric section, carefully looking for a bargain on cloth, and tirelessly studying pattern options. McCall’s. Butterick. Simplicity. She had shoe boxes full. Trends and styles didn’t really matter. And she didn’t care if “all of the other kids wear them.” No. Quality took precedence over style. And you can bet your life “You’ll grow into them” was something heard too many times. With all of that, she’d sew on Cub Scout badges and patches, carefully aligning them to make sure they were straight.
Sundays were tough. Church was important. And you were going with a fresh scrubbed face, plastered down hair and a clip on tie. And no, it didn’t matter how the other kids came to church. Maybe the things weren’t the best, but they would be the best they could be.
You wouldn’t find steak on the table. Well, she was convincing when she called hamburger “steak.” Sundays were the big meal. Maybe a roast with potatoes and carrots. Slow cooked to perfection. She didn’t do all of the cooking, but she could cook. And for family reunions or get togethers, she started days in advance. Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. And some type of Jell-O concoction of either strawberry or cherry Jello-O with diced chunks of Philadelphia Cream Cheese and chopped pecans. Pecan pies. Real banana pudding. On Saturdays, sometimes she would take canned biscuits and tear a hole in the middle and fry them for donuts, iced with a powdered sugar/hot water glaze. No, they weren’t great donuts, but, they were the best. Maybe it was the “love” ingredient. To her, a BLT with a milkshake was a great meal. She worked in a drugstore during her high school years. Maybe that was something they served and it reminded her of her youth.
Hershey bars. No, Hershey bars with Almonds. And Almond Joy, not Mounds. She liked the almonds. But it was Milky Ways, not Snickers that she preferred. If she had a real vice, it was chewing gum. Doublemint was okay, but Juicy Fruit was what you found most often hiding at the bottom of her purse. And she popped the gum. After visits to her mother’s house, she’d stop at Don’s Quick Stop and get a treat. Maybe a soda. Maybe a candy bar. Maybe both. And while she was never one to do foolish things, on those trips to her mother’s house, she’d turn onto the last highway, floor the accelerator to the top of the hill, and see how far the car would coast on the way down and back up the next hill. Maybe that’s her one crazy stunt.
Maybe her other big habit was Coca Cola. 6 ½ oz bottles. She’d carefully open it, and if there was a “chip” in the bottle, she’d strain it through a tea towel. He would take ice cubes and beat them with the back of a butter knife. She liked crushed or chipped ice.
One other vice. The beauty shop. Every Thursday after work. She didn’t schedule an appointment. She had an appointment. Every Thursday after work.
You wouldn’t find a record collection or fancy stereo in the house, but she’d iron with the radio playing. She liked Lawrence Welk. And if the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was on...well, life stopped until the performance ended. Later on you’d find that she had acquired Ferrante & Teicher albums. Montovani. And of course, Mormon Tabernacle Choir albums. He had Jerry Clower. She tolerated him watching football. Westerns. Things of which she had no interest. Yet, she’d sit there, just to be there, not somewhere else.
She didn’t have a college degree, but she was educated. Over the years, she worked several jobs. A title clerk at a car dealership. She sold rail cars and truckloads of asphalt at the refinery. And her final job was as secretary to the county judge. Several of them. But her most important jobs were being a wife and a mom.
And she loves her grand babies. Loves those grand babies.
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| It was their 60th Anniversary. Never mind that the wedding date is part of the article.
Only God knows the sacrifices she made for her family. Kids. Husband. What she did without. No fancy house or car. Or clothes. She could be obstinate. Demanding. Overbearing. Strict. With a heart as big as the Grand Canyon. She’s my mom. And today, she’s weighing on my mind. Time to make a phone call.
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