Mosaic Monday #119: Feeding Tummies and Souls

I have been thinking about food lately.  Food plays many roles in our lives, beside the obvious contribution to nutrition (hopefully) and energy.  Entertainment.  A reason to gather.  A creative outlet.  Comfort.  The term "comfort food" has been traced back at least to 1966, when the Palm Beach Post used it in a story: "Adults, when under severe emotional stress, turn to what could be called "comfort food" - food associated with the security of childhood, like mother's poached egg or famous chicken soup."   

In October, my sisters moved our Mom from her independent cottage to an assisted living facility closer to my oldest sister.  In the process, I inherited three of Mom's cookbooks, which #1 Daughter transported to me when she came to visit for Christmas.   It would be an understatement to characterize them as well-loved!  The pages are sprinkled with splashes, evidence of cooking in years gone by!

The non-descript orange binder is the greatest treasure of them all.  The vast majority of the contents were painstakingly typed on a typewriter.  Notes in Mom's distinctive spiky handwriting pop up in margins, on post-it notes and on random sheets inserted throughout the sections, sections such as Bread, Cake, Candy, Cookies, Dressing, etc.   It is at once a snap-shot of the 1950's housewife, a record of family recipes, and a chronicle of family gatherings and the associated menu.  Who knew she kept these details?  In the midst of raising 7 children, when did she have time for this? 

Mom is 92, and it would take a lifetime to execute all these recipes, so I began by asking her about cakes.  Why cakes?  Birthday cakes feature prominently in early family photos.  February, April, May and October just for the first four!  So, I asked Mom about her favorite cake ... maybe I should not have been surprised to hear it was NOT any variety of layer cake, but rather the Saucy Applecake!

Where to go next?  Mom says her preferred cookies were the Famous Oatmeal Cookies, a recipe from her Great Aunt Anna.  I look forward to carrying on this fine family tradition, and you can expect to see them in a future post!  

Who would have guessed that this little orange binder could feed my tummy, my heart AND my soul?  Already I feel closer to Mom, despite the 1,900 miles that separate us.  Sometimes our phone conversations have been as dry as a crouton, a by-product of the life of a 92-year-old constrained by the pandemic.  Now, the cookbook presents a ready source of conversation topics.  

I flip the pages slowly, so many of them sending me into a dreamy reverie of times gone by.  Her famous Cranberry Salad recipe, a staple at our Thanksgiving table.  A recipe for zucchini bread, a frequent summer treat to deplete the overabundance of Dad's garden.  Punch recipes recall the graduation ceremonies of my older siblings, when I barely reached to their knees.  It seems rosy from here, some 60 years later, and yet I am sure there were challenging times for Mom, managing a household with nine souls under her care (yes, including Dad).  One of my sisters found this poem (author unknown) during the move process.  

My life is but a weaving     Between my Lord and me

I cannot choose the colors    He weaveth steadily

Oftimes he weaveth sorrow     And I, in foolish pride

Forget He sees the upper        And I the underside

Not 'til the loom is silent        And the shuttle cease to fly

Shall God unroll the canvas    And reveal the reasons why

The dark threads may be needful   

In the skillful weaver's hands

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned  

During this time of Lent, I am reflecting on her self-sacrifice and her love.  While my memories may lean to the physical, such as the food she prepared for us, I know she worked hard to look after our spiritual needs as well.   Thanks, Mom, for feeding us -- tummies, hearts and souls.

Mosaic Monday

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