Monday, September 20, 2010

Remembering Mama

     Mama became a part of my life late- but once she did, it seemed odd to think of ever having existed without her.  For me, life was never the same once I met her.
     She was my idea of human perpetual motion.  I was constantly amazed at the amount of energy she expended.  Mama had developed though the years, a little running-kind-of-walk that set the pace for everything she did.  She expected us to possess the same level of energetic ability.  Though she was three times our age, she could do more work than all of us put together.  Sometimes when we became tired and had to stop a task, she just kept going!  It was all right for us to stop and rest for a while; she just didn’t need to!  Her day began early – always with a bath, full dress, and make-up; none of this bathrobe and slippers business for Mama.  From that beginning point, her day never stopped. She must have gotten tired, but it was never obvious to those around her.  Even when she sat to rest for a while, her hands were working:  mending, sewing, doing needlepoint, shelling peas, peeling apples.
     In my opinion, Mama could do almost anything – except learn to drive.  Several people tried to teach her, but were never successful.  At first, I felt that I had to compete with her, but I soon realized there was no such thing!  She made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t into competition.  She did things for us and with us simply because she loved us, thus eliminating the need for competition.  If she could do something better than we could, she simply taught us her skill – if we wanted to learn.  Out first recollection of each other centered on our love for stitching and sewing.  We sat and sewed and talked for hours when I was a student at Winthrop and she was the house manager. Our conversations ranged from her love of God to the proper way to peel a cantaloupe.
     She was a believer in doing things well – or not doing them at all.  As a result, she was an excellent seamstress.  Her creations were often works of art.  Perfection was her password.  Many times I have heard her say, “That just won’t do”, and she would take all of it out.  It didn’t make any difference whether it was her stitching or my stitching. The seams and final touches were always exquisite – bits of lace, or smocking, or appliqué – all hand done and just perfect.  She especially enjoyed sewing for children, and would spend hours doing the handwork on a garment for them.  A dress made by Mama would always make our eyes light up.  It fit perfectly, had all of the right finishing touches, and we felt special every time we wore something she created.  And nothing pleased Mama more than seeing one of us wearing one of the dresses she had made.
     After I married her son, I always looked forward to Mama’s visits.  She maintained a place of her own, so she had a life other than just her children.  Her visits were fairly infrequent, but they were always intense.  When Mama was in the house, things happened!  She could never stop working as long as she knew there was something to be done.  She did more work in less time than anyone I’ve ever known.  In our farmhouse, there were always things to be done. Summer brought an abundance of vegetables to be canned and frozen, fruits to be preserved; and Mama knew exactly how to engineer such projects!  She just couldn’t rest as long as she knew there were apples on the trees, berries on the terrace, or fabric in the sewing cabinet.  In the evening, we patched the knees or seats of pants, began a new sewing project (or finished an old one) or sometimes we just sat and snapped beans to be frozen or canned the next day.
     It always amazed me how much Mama could gear down for Sunday.  That was the Lord’s Day and no work was done when she was around.  She was a devout lady who loved God, and the subject of work on Sunday was definitely not up for debate.  Most of Sunday dinner was cooked on Saturday; the sewing machine was folded up and tucked away; the house was cleaned and readied for the Lord’s Day.  Clothes were pressed, shoes shined and set aside, and everything was put in order before going to bed on Saturday evening.  Sunday morning with Mama was spent in church.  Sunday afternoons were used for leisure conversation, long afternoon naps, and observing nature from the porch.  She held the secret of God’s plan: the Sabbath was made for man’s renewal, not man for the Sabbath.
     Mama’s frugality was the eighth wonder of the world.  She had lots of practice though.  Widowed at the age of forty-six with four young children and few marketable skills, she not only survived, but sent all four of the children to college.  She learned along the way how to use two small pieces of fabric and stitch them together to make a designer’s dream.  She could cook dinner for six from practically nothing.  And she must have known a dozen different ways to make a gourmet dish from corn meal – some of which I never learned to enjoy.  She taught me how to cook foods I didn’t know existed:  fried blueberries, eggless fruitcake, liver mush.  She taught me homemaking skills that my home economics education professors would not even touch!
     When I think of Mama I recall the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs.  Who can find a virtuous woman?  For her price is far above rubies.  She was quite a lady.  She never let me forget that I was a chosen one.  I never let her forget that I loved her before I loved her son.  We met while I was a college sophomore and she was my housemother.  She introduced me to her son who has been my husband for fifty-four years.
     I never cared much for mother-in-law jokes!
    

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