Tribute to Mom and other mothers, as well.

I Saw Her

I saw her sitting on the park bench

A small child playing at her feet.

I saw here give her meager meal

to the youngster she thought so sweet.

I saw her kiss her child

who came to her crying.

I saw the tears she shed

when she caught her child lying.

I saw her trade her youth

for selfless years of service.

I saw her teach the child

throughout years of patience.

I saw her raise her dimmed eyes to see

the child she adored—

            was me.

                                    ~ Annette Gagliardi

             

Given that Mothers’ day is Sunday, I wanted to write a tribute to mothers – to my own mom. But it seems pretty daunting, given all that moms do, given all that my own mother did. 

            Why is talking about mothers so daunting? Well, from the moment a child is born, its mother’s life changes—dramatically. She is still responsible for her own life, but now she is also responsible for someone else. And children, especially infants rely on the mother (and father) for everything. The feeding, the diapering, the bathing, the comforting, all an infant’s needs, are taken care of by its mother (and father). Now, multiply that for each child. My mother had eight children. Imagine.

           
            And then, the infants grow.

            Our three-year-old granddaughter wants what she wants when she wants it – and we would love to give it to her. But her mother has her best interests in mind and often says ‘no’ – that dastardly word children hate to hear. Being a mother means loving your child even when they are not liking you in the least, even when they say they hate you. I could only appreciate this after my mom had died and I realized she took a lot of disapproving remarks from me, a lot of anger and self-righteous dissent—and still, she loved me. As children get older, they still want what they want when they want it, but parents who love them continue to use that “N” word.  One of my favorite quotes applies here, “Parents are the bone on which children sharpen their teeth.” (Peter Ustinov)  Children do chew on and chew out their parents, yet, their mothers continue to love them.

            Our six-year-old ran in the house the other day with a tiny cut. A little wash, a Spiderman bandage and a kiss were all he needed to make it right. When I look at all the minor and major wounds I took to Mom, who administered the variety of first aid I needed, I tear up with gratitude. All those years of moaning and whining—and she offered solace in the form of advice, commiseration, her own experiences and love. Yes, she was prepared with band aids, ointments and the like, as well.

            I’m teaching our grandson, Ben to wash the dishes. He’s doing pretty well. We are in the ‘quality control’ phase of learning.  Some nights he is weary of my instruction, and I can relate. Mom never tired of teaching us. She was a great teacher. She helped us with homework. Dad did too. But Mom also taught us the many skills we would need to live a life of responsibility and self-reliance. She taught us life-skills. And she taught us that “cleanliness is next to godliness”[1]—a term folks will be using these days with the COVID-19 running rampant and cleaning a way to get rid of germs. Mom could have taught us all a thing or two about cleaning.

            She taught me how to cook, the importance of following a recipe – how and when to improvise; and how to bake bread. Mom used to make fourteen loaves of bread every week (we used two loaves per day) and a pan of buns. I also remember her sweet rolls. We loved her bread and I am proud of how proficient she was. She also made Indian Fry bread on occasion, which I loved. And she made tacos from scratch, making the tortillas, then frying the meat, filling the tortillas and frying them, pinching them together with toothpicks so the meat wouldn’t fall out as they fried. They were so much better than some of the store-bought ones today. She made head cheese and cooked up a cow’s tongue! And even today, I just wonder – why?

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Back in the day, most women cooked and canned. We canned with Mom. I remember eating apple butter ‘til I couldn’t look at it again. But she canned pears, peaches, tomatoes, corn, jelly and I don’t remember what else. She (meaning she had us help her) cut up the deer Dad brought home and made ‘hamburger’ by mixing the venison with sausage. I remember waking up one night to the smell of meat cooking. Mom was frying up a steak freshly cut from the deer Dad had shot that night. She cooked anything that Dad or the boys brought home: rabbits, pheasants, squirrels, turkey. After she chopped the heads off fifty chickens and had us help her dunk them in boiling water, pluck all the feathers off and ready them for freezing, I had a totally new perspective and respect for her. I never wanted to make her mad after seeing how she chopped those chickens heads off with a single blow.

I was in ninth grade when Mom went to work outside our home. Whoever was assigned to make supper would call her and ask what should be made and she would say “Look in the frig and see what is there.” I hated when she said that, but she always had a plan in place because she had an organized mind. She was the Mom and planned for supper before she went to work. And she could make anything from a short list of foods. I still love baking bread and am reminded of her skill each time I bake. She taught us all that cooking was an important skill we needed to learn—even the boys. And putting us in that apprenticeship position meant we learned to eat each other’s food and tolerate each other’s mistakes. (Except for the Anise Seed Stew Stephen made. I still remember how bad that was.)  Mom loved looking at recipes and after they retired, she and Dad loved watching cooking shows. Because I was attending college (yes, my whole adult life), she recorded six hours of those cooking shows she thought I’d like so I could watch them at my leisure. I enjoyed discussing recipes with her and talking about how we would change, or had changed what was on the page.

            Mom also taught me how to sew on a button, and how to begin sewing, how to crochet and embroider. She sewed a lot of my clothing. I remember the yellow shirtwaist dress she made for my eight-grade graduation. It had a crisp, white peter pan collar and a black, velvet ribbon belt. It looked very sharp. She was a great seamstress. She taught the boys how to sew on a button as well as us girls because that was one more life-skill we would all need to know.  She also taught me how to iron clothes—something I detested at the time, but grew to appreciate. We started out with handkerchiefs and pillow cases and advanced to shirts, dresses, tablecloths, etc. In a time when most people just wash and wear, I still iron a few things. They look so much neater when they are ironed.

            She taught me how to wrap my text books in paper to keep the covers nice, how to polish my shoes and wash my shoelaces, and so many other little ideas that may not seem to matter, but saved wear and tear and made you look neater, cleaner and ready.

            Mom taught me through instruction, but also by nagging me. “Sit up straight!” was a constant reminder. I was not good at nagging. I hated doing it. I always felt terrible when I ranted out a good nag.  I would nag my girls then yell at them for making me nag. – a double whammy!  Despite my feelings, I bet my kids think I was a great nag. But, years of parenting education have taught me that it’s a mother’s job to nag, and that kids who are nagged turn out better. Who knew?

Mom was crafty as well, and she was a forerunner of the women of my time who would reduce, reuse and recycle. One of my favorite memories is making little animals with empty thread spools and the cardboard from cereal boxes. Each little animal was made by tracing the circle of the spool end, then adding feet and ears, or a tail. We cut out those pieces, colored them and glued them to either end of the spool. We had a menagerie of farm animals. I’ve almost got enough spools to create a barnyard of our own, again.

            Mom was the superintendent of our church’s Sunday school and us kids all had perfect attendance for all the years she held that office. She made sure we were all clean and dressed for church every Sunday. We helped her when she had to take care of the tray of little shot glasses after the service where everyone got the wine. The trays were silver and the little glasses held just a sip. Sometimes there was a glass that still had not been taken and we got to taste that Mogan David [1]for ourselves. Then we had to wash, dry and put away those trays of glasses. It was a light and interesting task.

            I’m not sharing much of anything other mothers, grandmothers, aunties did in the fifties and sixties. My grandmother was such a woman—doing everything to keep the house and home together, from making butter, sewing the curtains, skinning rabbits and recovering chairs to keeping the stove going in order to cook the meals and warm the house. My aunties were the same. Women did everything. My grand mothers are gone, and so are most of my aunties. Yet, one still remains, my Aunt Iris, whom I cherish. She was as competent as the rest and is still the sweetest lady I know, still capable and ready to help out, still full of wit and humor.  I salute the women of that age because they had such a strong work ethic, and they worked to make miracles from next to nothing. They weren’t afraid of hard labor and weren’t afraid to learn something new in order to keep their household together. They exemplified the theme of child care providers in the seventies whose motto was: “we’ve done so much for so long for so many that we are now qualified to do anything with nothing at all.”

            Proverbs 31: 1-31 describes the women I am writing about. Those women who are virtuous, who do good, who work willingly with their hands and burn the midnight oil to secure what is needed for her family. They have wisdom, they are gracious, generous, and strong. So, they make this last verse true: “Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also,[1]”

            We look to the women of the generations before us for our role models, for instruction and education, for illumination and affirmation. We have fabulous leaders such as Gloria Steinem, Margaret Mead, Rosa Parks, Mother Theresa and many others.  But we also have the everyday leaders like my mother who lead by example on a daily basis. Who show us how to live despite the struggles, who give us what we need, instead of what we want or deserve, who love us despite our weaknesses and who lived hard lives so we can live better lives.

My daughters are women of today, and they all work outside their home, care for their families and make ends meet with less than is needed. If you read Proverbs 31, you will see the way they behave. I like the ending because it says it: “let her own works praise her in the gates.[1]”  People tell me I have terrific daughters and I agree with them. Despite my ineptitude, my daughters are fabulous women who work hard, know much, try new things, bring home the bacon, and are resilient in times of hardship. I call them blessed. But of course, they would be. They are direct descendants of Anna Grace Williamson Stabnow—Mom

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[1] This phrase was first recorded in a sermon by John Wesley in 1778, but the idea is ancient, found in Babylonian and Hebrew religious tracts.

[1] Mogan David was the brand of wine used for delivering the Eucharist by the Lutheran Church we attended.

[1] Proverbs 31:28

[1] Proverbs 31: 31

Woman of Capacity.

She is a woman of Capacity.
There is much she wants to know.
Her abilities are endless.
Her flair for competence is sufficient to arouse suspicion.
Give her the full measure of life for she is up to the test.
Her boundless intelligence is as keen as a rapier
and bright enough to light the stars of heaven.

She is a woman of capacity
There is much she wishes to do.
She is a Jill of all trades.
Her caliber has no match as efficient or vigorous.
Give her the hard jobs no one wants for her tools are of great might.
Her prowess endowed early and often enables her to work
at all hours of the day and night.

She is a woman of capacity.
There are places she yearns to go.
She is a truth seeker.
Her journeys explore the realities and profundities of existence.
Give her the theories you find most sincere
For she will hold them up against the harsh light of reality
and suffer the consequences.

She is a woman of capacity.
Her hunger fills her up—-to overflowing;
She swells with its weight.
There are volumes to exhume, to revel, and delight in.
Give her the entire degree of hardships and hindrances to champion.
Its amplitude stretches her senses.
They broadcast the world and serve to assuage her beast of craving.

                                    ~ Annette Gagliardi