Christmas

Monday, June 22, 2015

History Somewhat Repeats Itself

My mother used to tell the story of my grandmother during her illness. I really didn’t know my Grandmom because she died when I was very young. But my mom kept her alive for me through stories. Grandmom had severe diabetes and she was confined to her bed. Her family of seven children visited regularly. One day, the three girls wanted to make a nice dinner, but they couldn’t find any recipes. Grandmom explained that she never wrote down her creations; she just did them from memory, with little measuring going on. So when the sisters were making this meal, they had to run up the stairs to have Grandmom see and even feel the ingredients. When they finished, everyone agreed that the food was good, but it lacked Grandmom’s special touch.

I felt like that yesterday. I had made the pasta salad ahead of time, and I just needed to add the broccoli from my daughter’s garden.  I also had the desserts made on Friday. The ribs went in at 7:30 A.M. with the rub, so they could roast slowly at 200° all day. When my daughter arrived, I let the little guys help me with the appetizers. They were so solemn as they took turns carrying everything from the kitchen to the breakfast room.  Then we sent all the men folk into the family room to watch baseball and golf or to build with Lego blocks. Even Kasey the Golden was banished! Then my daughter and I got to work. She insisted that I sit, and she would follow my directions. That’s when I was reminded of the Grandmom story. My daughter would ask “How much?” and I’d have to see it to determine the answer. With her being my hands and legs, we accomplished much. We enjoyed our Margaritas as we ‘slaved over a hot stove.’ [wink, wink]

She cut broccoli florets for the pasta salad, then we allowed her brother to assist us in using the mandolin for the squash and zucchini. The aroma of the spices in that vegetable dish was wafting through the house, and the boys were getting hungry! She added barbecue sauce to the ribs and made corn on the cob. We sat down to eat, and I felt so relaxed. Getting help such as this leaves me rested, and I’m becoming accustomed to allowing others to assist.

There was a lot of food, but little was left, so it must have tasted good. The boys were happy with their pursuits, and my daughter and I had a chance to talk without the “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy” or “Nanny, Nanny, Nanny” refrain. Kasey appeared periodically with his nose sniffing the air, but just a reminder took him back to the boys.

All in all, it was a fun day. Daddy enjoyed his Father’s Day, the food was delicious, everyone was in good spirits, and I was totally relaxed. What more could you ask for? And like my Grandmom, I still felt in control. A real blessing!

Peace,
Muff




6 comments:

  1. This brought back some wonderland memories of meals prepared for me during special occasions at my aunts. No grandmas for me! It sounds wonderful, even as a child, I always appreciated a meal someone cooked for me!!

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    1. Quite the opposite -- I always loved doing the cooking and I always loved running the show. It's only been recently that I've allowed others to take over -- and I still run the show!!!

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  2. It sounds like a magical gathering with love's ingredients sprinkled in perfectly!

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    1. Yes, love was the entree at this feast!

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  3. Oh, that sounds perfect. My grandmother used to be asked for her recipe for bread often and she always told the asker, "Well, you can come and watch but I can only tell you it has to feel right."

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    1. Isn't that funny that our ancestors worked by feel and not by recipes!

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