My mom was a terrible cook. I mean, just awful.
Most of my meal-related memories involve her dashing from the bedroom where she’d got caught up in a book and shrieking in horror at boiled over veggies, burnt potatoes or overdone everything. She’d turn off the stove and turn to us to inquire why on earth we hadn’t noticed the stench, the billowing smoke and alerted her to the onset of yet another culinary disaster.
We were probably watching TV and oblivious.
She was bad at the preparation of meals. But she was simply amazing at the creation of moments.
Valentine’s morning brought balloons and streamers and love notes beside every breakfast plate.
Birthdays were a chance to request your favorite meal.
Sunday lunches usually involved tons of last minute guests, frantic hisses from my mom to, “for goodness sakes eat less or we’re going to run out” and an enveloping sense of warmth and welcome. Watermelons floated in the swimming pool to keep cool and kids were everywhere and everywhere welcome.
Food may not have been her love language, but love sure was.
I think about that every time I use her wooden cutting board.
My dad brought it from Pretoria, South Africa to South Bend, Indiana eleven years ago to give to me the week of my wedding. It was my “something old.” When the board was still brand new she’d put a boiling hot pot directly onto it and burned rings of memory into it. She was very unhappy about it. Very. It pretty much summed up her kitchen skills.
Man, I love that board.
I’m not good in the kitchen either. I wish I was, but I’m not. And every time I get that board out from its nook next to the microwave I smile all the way down to my belly and remember I don’t need to be. To serve up the kind of lovin’ that counts, I don’t need mad cooking skills. I just need what my mom always had more than enough of.
Mad loving-on-people-skills. And everything else is gravy.
This reminds me of a saying about having folks over to your home: “You can either impress people, or make them comfortable.” I usually apply it to how clean my house is, but in the context of your blog, I’d also way rather be made comfortable by love and welcome than impressed with gourmet food. :-)
Amen! This is such a great post.
Such precious memories! My mom is much the same. :o)
I love the vivid images that you create in my mind–I feel like I knew your mother. I hope you write a novel someday; I’ll stand in line to buy it!
Your post had such a great meaning for me, something I want to work at doing better. I want my kids to remember me and our home as always welcoming to others, whether or not the bathroom was at its cleanest or the meals at their finest.
Have you read “The Optimist’s Daughter” by Eudora Welty? The part of your story about the cutting board reminded me of that novel.
I haven’t – but I’m gonna add it to my Amazon wish list now :)
Wonderful! Love it! I can FEEL how you feel about that cutting board.
It’s the truth for sure! We rarely remember a meal, but we tend to always remember who we had the meal with.
Lisa-Jo
Amber Haines wrote about a week ago about a frying pan from her Grandma that does the same thing as your board. I shared then – and now – that my version is tri-folding towels.
I argued as a teen that it made no sense – that it was extra folding only a mean mother would subject on her captive children.
I’d say “Look mom half, half, half- see how easy?”
and she’d say “NO. Half, fold, fold, fold.”
“Seriously mom, it makes no sense.”
“They fit better that way”
But moooooooooooom whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!!!!!”
“Because I said so.” (with variations such as “Because I’m your mother” and “I brought you into this world and I can take you out again” and other appropriate mom has the final word techniques.
So when it came time for folding I just kept putting the towels back in the next dryer load. Rebel. But now, with mom not on this earth anymore. Every time I fold my towels, it’s the tri-fold, “half, fold, fold, fold” I smile the way you do without fail. The simple things right?
Whether we plan it or not, our parents become the inevitable sound track to our everyday moments, don’t they?
TRUE DAT!
Great post…we love having people over…i need to work a bit on making people feel special though…thanks for the encouragement to do so!
I LOVE LOVE LOVE that cutting board…what a sweet memory..
Great stuff!
p.s. I see the Nando’s sauce on the left! (Yum! :)
Heh! I wondered if anyone else would notice?!
Love it! Cooking is not my strong suit, but I love loving on people! I always say that I’m more into the presentation :) My mom just laughs and says I come by it naturally. Her philosophy was, “If it takes more than 2 pans and 10 minutes, forget it!” but she always made it look good! My poor husband’s mother is a fabulous cook so he has high hopes for me with a little practice :) Ah, we shall see…
Such a great story. I’m not a very good cook either, but try to make it more about love and taking care of my family. I hope I always remember what it’s REALLY about!
what a beautiful story! And how you have encouraged me today…just this weekend, I was telling my husband what a lousy “woman” I was b/c I am NOT a good cook and decorator…especially in the south, that is highly prized. Thanks for reminding me that its the people skills that my daughters will remember…
What a special memory. I’m so glad you have that board. I’m sentimental that way too. :)
Well, I’ve never had your cooking, but I’ve enjoyed your own mad people skills and you are the Paula Deen/Giada DeLaurentis/Rachel Ray of lovin’ !
Have a wonderful week!
Love those last lines….everything else is just gravy. :)
this post made me want to cry. I hate cooking, I really can’t wrap my brain around it, and it makes me feel like a failure as a mother/wife, and that makes me hate it more….this was wonderful. It gave me hope for my children’s memories of me. The mom who can’t cook but can love well is something I think I can do!
I love this post! My Mimmie was a great cook, but evidently she made mistakes, as well…I have the hamburger patty form to prove it. I don’t know where it came from, but my mother’s mother had a wooden block with a big circle cut out of the middle of it, just the perfect size for forming ground beef into hamburger patties. At some point in its lifetime, she must have done the same thing your mom did, or put it on a hot stove eye, because it has the very same rings on the bottom that your cutting board does. And when I pull it out of the pantry to make hamburgers, I think of her and how much I love her still, even though she’s been in heaven 26 years.
And even though she could cook, what I remember most about her was the love she gave all of her family. She was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known…inside and out. : )
One of my favorite posts of yours.