Mom

The visual dynamics of this past Tuesday were a perfect replica of the day we got married. Sunlight was spilling everywhere, dodging the bright white, generously spaced clouds.  Tree branches whipped back and forth in elegant arcs, thanks to a rushing wind reminiscent of the whitecaps of Lake Michigan.  If you were looking for a day that invited you to abandon any notion of city life, pull up a chair in your backyard, and envelope yourself in every good thing nature had to offer, it was Tuesday.

Our wedding day was rich with many wonderful stories, including the ubiquitous tale of how the day was snatched from disaster by one key person who was in the right place at the right time.  In this case, it was my mother, a firm believer in the Vince Lombardi adage that early is on time, and on time was late. The hour before the ceremony was largely uneventful, until the flowers showed up for the wedding party.  As boutonnieres and sprays for hair were passed out, all featuring the most memorable scent of freesia, the women in the party realized there was nothing to keep their sprays in place—no stick pins, and no bobby pins—and the florist was long gone.

Enter Mom. Shifting into a radio announcer’s range to still the tumult, she boomed “NOBODY PANIC”, and marched into the women’s restroom, urging the female members of the party to follow.  Once there (I’m told), she immediately went to the sinks and peered intently at the place where the front wall and floor met—and that’s where she found the treasure.  Knowing a janitor’s broom would move bobby pins to the edge of the floor, but avoid the final sweep intended to lift them into the dustpan, she found a treasure trove of bobby pins in different heights, colors, and degrees of filth.  Three pumps of hand soap later, a hygienic solution was achieved, the orchestra struck up Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring, and the talk of the wedding was the raspberry sorbet.

This was by no means the most significant of the times Mom saved the day, but it did create a sense of awe within her new daughter-in-law that served as the basis for a lifelong friendship.  Having seen the magic that made bobby pins appear from nowhere, my bride understood what I had tried to tell her many times:  Mom was really something.  They became best friends, shared each other’s confidences, and were brutally honest with each other in ways moms and sons generally can’t be.  Supporting each other with candor and affection every step of the way, they were an impressive duo, a partnership that became something to behold for nearly 41 years.

Those amazing clouds and that wave-like wind reminded me of all that this past Tuesday, the day my amazing mother moved on to new adventures.  A brief illness wasn’t quite the way she had wanted to go, but given that she left this earth still caring for her own home and spoiling family members with exceptional gifts, her departure was mighty close to perfect, much like the rest of her life. 

A remarkable life where the center was a desire to be the best mother, wife, and grandmother ever, she did not disappoint, not only with her own family, but in loving the world as well.  Mighty, visionary, a keen wit that never failed, any just version of the afterlife has her listening to the same lake-like wind—or, better yet, sitting on the shores of her beloved Lake Michigan, reveling in delight.

Chocolate Chip Cookies (for Mom)

Half butter
Half lard.
The bag recipe
Would never suggest such a thing
And risk offending
The pearl-clutching suburban moms
Who wanted elegance
Sophistication
And butter
Not some Depression throwback.

They were right
In a way.
Not enough butter
And you had cardboard
That actually remained dry
Even when dunking.
But all butter made things
Too smooth
Nearly tasteless
A cookie that numbed
As much as tractor mowers
And cleaning services.

What led to this mix?
An intuition developed from
Hours behind the faded yellow bowl
With a wooden spoon
And a sifter
From World War II.
Heaping tablespoons
Are never the same
As an eyeballed dash
Dripped from the bottle
Just so.
That much vanilla
And Granny Clampett’s magic grease
Is the essence of wisdom not known
To pen or paper.

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