I woke up so happy the other morning. I was dreaming about making clam chowder with my mom.
My mom, who passed away from Covid on January first this year, believed strongly in two main foods to make anyone feel better. Clam chowder and wild blackberry pie. I could count on both each time I’d visit her in Olympia, Washington after moving to California.
I have collected a series of cookbooks (photo above) that my great-grandmother published in the 1890s and early 1900s. My great-grandfather was a newspaper man and owned a printing press. To earn extra money, great-grandmother Nellie published and sold her cookbooks across the country as a fundraiser for church auxiliary groups.
Just think, she had to typeset these beauties by hand!
I decided to check out my great grandmother’s cookbook to see if my mom followed the recipe for clam chowder. There are a few differences. For example, we use bacon today instead of pork. We don’t use fresh clams. And what the heck are common crackers?
I love this quote from the Soup cookbook:
“Soup preceding sumptuous meal,
Preparing well the way
For happiness and joyous weal,
To brighten every day.”
This is how I make clam chowder — the way Mom taught me:
Dice potatoes and boil in water. Chop onions and bacon into small pieces.
Brown onions and bacon, drain the grease.
Add flour to onions and bacon and brown. Add milk or heavy cream and allow to thicken. Add potatoes with boiled water. Add a can of clams with liquid.
Sometimes she would throw in a can of creamed corn.
I’ve written about comfort foods HERE and what my daughter finds as her comfort food. It surprised me.
What’s your favorite comfort food? Is it from a family recipe?
I wrote this when my daughter was 19. It’s my most read post. I am currently going through similar feelings with my daughter being annoyed with me. Maybe it’s the stress we’re all going through.
I understand how she feels. After all, I was once 19 years old. I remember it very clearly.
Everything my mom did, I found unbelievably annoying.
I’ll never forget sitting with her in the car, getting ready to shop at Bellevue Square. She had parked the car. She was fumbling through her purse, making sure she had what she needed. She reapplied her lipstick. Dug through her purse for her wallet to look through credit cards. Searched several times to check where she placed the keys.
Mom and me in the early 90s. I lost her to COVID in January this year.
Would we never leave the car? Would I be stuck all day? I must have said something to her quite snippy, or flat out mean. A few tears rolled down her cheeks. Which made me more upset with her.
Isn’t it a sad feeling, transitioning from a mom who could do no wrong—from changing diapers, to cooking their favorite spaghetti, to taping treasured colorings on the fridge that were made just for you—to being the person of their abject disdain?
It’s a tough new role. Let me tell you.
But, having gone through these feelings myself, I understand. I’m visiting my mom this week in her assisted living center. I talked about it with her, what I’m going through now, and what I felt like when I was 19. Fortunately, she doesn’t remember me ever being a snarky 19-year-old.
For some reason, I’ve gained more patience throughout my life and that has been a blessing. I’ve also learned forgiveness.
My baby girl years ago.
Something else, I’ve learned through the years of parenting: this too shall pass.
It’s called independence and freedom. We want our children to grow and become separate human beings that can stand on their own. Sometimes they need to separate from us. A good time to do that is during their senior year of high school, or their freshman year of college. It’s a good thing. I keep telling myself that.
However, we also want to be treated with respect, and once again—someday—to be cherished.
A beach day with my daughter.
I wrote more about separating from our kids and the experiences we go through when they leave for college HERE.
What are your thoughts about adult kids being annoyed with you? Is it deserved or is it growing pains?
Do you think when people close to us are going through rough times, it’s easy for them to take it out on those closest to them?
My daughter and me in the backyard of a house we used to rent in Laguna Beach.
We rented a house in Laguna Beach to escape the high temperatures of Palm Springs in the summertime. We rented with another family from Memorial weekend to Labor day, splitting the summer in half.
The family who owned the house were school teachers. They took off to Alaska each summer as rangers.
I was worried the first time I visited the house. The backyard dropped off into a canyon. There were railroad ties between the lawn and a cliff. Having a two-year old son, I was worried the yard was too dangerous.
The owner laughed and said she raised three boys in that house and there was never an issue.
Me and my son at the beach in Laguna.
I’ll never forget the first time we rented the house. We told our son we were going to the beach. He grabbed a shovel and bucket and said, “Let’s go!” He was headed to the edge of the lawn and railroad ties, where there was a view of the ocean.
“No!” I stopped him. “We have to drive to the beach.”
Later that summer, I couldn’t find the T.V. remote control. My husband worked in Palm Springs during the weekdays and I was alone with my son except for weekends.
I was six months pregnant with my daughter at the time.
“It’s down there!” my son said pointing to the cliff dropping to the canyon.
“What?” I asked.
“I threw it down there,” my son said, pointing.
I strapped him in his stroller before I ventured into the canyon. I made my way over the railroad ties, clinging onto shrubs for dear life, as I scrambled along the steep incline. Needless to say I was a wreck by the time I made it back up the steep cliff into the backyard. No, I didn’t find the remote.
My son seemed fascinated watching me from the safety of his stroller.
I pushed my son in his stroller into the house, unbuckled him and collapsed on the sofa.
My son joined me on the sofa and fetched the remote control from under a throw pillow.
“Here it is!” he said.
My kids at the Laguna Beach house, sitting on the hearth wearing sofa arm protectors as hats.
To this day, I have no clue why my son told me he threw the remote control into the canyon. I’m sure he was entertained watching me as I held onto branches and bushes to not tumble down the cliff.
What unexpected things have your kids done to make your life exciting?
Last week a thought occurred to me. I should get out my flute. Not only would it be nice to play again after a few years of not playing, it might give me a burst of creativity. I’m always looking for ways to encourage my creative spirit including walks, sketching or reading. However, in my advanced age, I promptly forgot about playing the flute.
Actually after moving, the flute got tucked away along with my music. At our former home, my flute was out on the piano and I’d walk by and stop to play. We donated our piano to our kids’ elementary school before we moved.
I was reading through blogs yesterday when I ran across a mouse playing a flute in a story on Nuggets of Gold called Moonlight Sonata. A note went off in my head. Yes, I want to get my flute out — and music.
I remembered where I squirreled away my music in the guest room dresser. My flute was hidden in my closet. My favorite flute music is falling apart, but still readable. I also found piano music for the Phantom of the Opera and Wizard of Oz. The good thing with the flute is that it’s in the key of C and I can play piano music easily — at least the melodies.
My mom played flute since she was a child and took me to lessons when I was around 10 years old. I played her beautiful silver flute at lessons and practiced with it. She got the flute from her high school flute teacher as a teen. When I was 11 years old, she gave me her flute. Her friends asked why she would give a child such a valuable instrument and she took it back. My parents bought me a flute appropriate to play at school when I joined Band.
When I turned 30, I asked my mom for the flute. She said no even though she hadn’t played it after taking it back from me two decades before. I was planning to make a leap and join our church choir. A friend of mine played flute in choir and suggested I give it a try. I could have played with my old band instrument, but it sounds tinny and is hard to play compared to the rich tone and ease of Mom’s silver flute.
Anyway, that was my excuse — also I was scared. Buying a flute at that time wasn’t even an idea we could consider.
I asked mom at age 40 and again at 50. The answer was always no. Sometime in my early 50s she told me she wanted me to have her flute. On one of my visits, she insisted I take it home on the plane. I held on to it for dear life on the flight back to Palm Springs.
My son and I practiced Christmas Carol duets each year, me on the flute and him on piano. I’d go through phases where I’d practice daily and then stop and start again.
Then the phone calls began. Mom had moved into assisted living. When she was in her 80s she wanted her flute back. I tried to explain that I was enjoying playing and I knew she wouldn’t play her flute or even open its case. She assured me she would and wanted to practice for a concert. Then she’d forget all about it and months later she’d call again about the flute.
I think in the back of my mind, I was hurt when she took the flute away from me as a child. I overheard her telling a friend that I was getting my sticky peanut butter and jelly fingers all over it — which was not true. I also felt that it was wrong to hang onto a possession for thirty or forty years and not let someone enjoy it.
My aunt, her little sister, had a similar story with china inherited from their family. My mom gave it to her little sister (my aunt) before she moved from her home, but once in assisted living kept calling to get her china back. There was obviously no room in the assisted living studio to display the china or store it.
Looking back, I wonder if I should have returned the flute for a few years to appease my mom. I think she was attached to these possessions because they reminded her of her earlier years and she saw them as her identity.
In any case, I have the flute and music out and it brings me joy to play and connects me to Mom in a good way, that I am able to enjoy her beautiful instrument and her musical talent. RIP.
Do you think people hold onto possessions because they see them as part of their identity or youth? If yes, what other things do people hang onto for that reason?
My Mom, her older brother and my aunt who is 11 or so years younger.
When my family got together to share memories of Mom — while feasting on her favorite dinner of prime rib and popovers that my brother prepared — my aunt (pictured above with Mom) shared several stories. I wrote about the red square contest HERE.
My mom had a funny sense of humor. Even in her later days. When I’d drive her for our favorite sushi lunch, if someone was crossing the street, she’ tell me’d say “Hit her. She’s worth three points.”
Mom’s dad died from stomach cancer at a very young age. My mom was possibly a freshman in college? With her little sister 11 or 12 years younger, my aunt didn’t remember much about her dad. She asked Mom, “What was Dad like? Was he an introvert? Or an extrovert?”
My mom thought for a bit and said, “He was just a regular vert.”
That reminded me of several comments I’ve seen on blogs lately, including my own. We identify as introverts and extroverts.
But are we really one or the other? Is there a combination? Are we introverts more extroverted with people we’re comfortable with? Or is that true for everyone?
I’m back home and I feel so much better mentally than when I left. I was wallowing in grief after my mom’s sudden death. I found myself aimlessly wandering through our house, alternating between tears and shock.
The six days with my kids was like a healing balm or salve that my heart needed.
What did we do? I was busy with my son, making his pour-over coffee, overnight oats, grocery shopping at my favorite Berkeley Bowl. I walked Waffles, played Scrabble, went to lunch and shopped with my daughter on Fourth Street, enjoyed time with my son’s fiancee and family. They lost their father several years ago and I felt their empathy and understanding.
The mushroom aisle at Berkeley Bowl, my favorite grocery store.
I was busy most of the time, I felt needed, and I felt my mom is in a better place.
We watched good movies including Metropolitan and Nausciaa of the Valley of the Wind. The voice of the Princess in Nausicaa was done by Alison Lohman, who is a local Palm Springs girl. She was in my ballet class more than 25 years ago. I’m always interested in watching her movies.
The food in the Bay Area is so much better than in Scottsdale. We ordered in most nights because of the storm. We had Japanese, Korean, Mexican and take out from Berkeley Bowl.
My son’s charcuterie with cheeses, salami, prosciutto, blackberries, grapes, crackers and comb honey.
If you find yourself in a funk — not necessarily grief like I’ve been experiencing — how do you get out of it?
My New Year started off with a phone call from my brother that our mom was found in her bed unresponsive. Within two hours she passed away after being taken by ambulance to the hospital. This was totally unexpected. She tested positive for COVID five days earlier but was asymptomatic.
I’m going through shock, denial, disbelief and grief all at once.
I wrote this story about her years ago. I sent it to children’s book publishers and actually got an offer from a small publisher. I turned down the offer because I didn’t think it was big enough! I’ve never had another offer in my life to have a book published.
Here’s the story:
A DIFFERENT KIND OF MOTHER
I have a different kind of mother. She’s not like other mothers on our street. She looks like other mothers. But it’s what she does that’s different.
She sings all the time. She sings songs by men named Wagner and Wolf. But she calls them “VAHgner” and “VOUlf.”
When my friends come over they ask “What is that?” We listen. “La la la la la la la la laaaa.”
I shrug my shoulders and say, “That’s my mom.”
My friends laugh. Their mothers never sing unless it’s to the radio.
My mom sings all the time. She sings operas while she drives, cooks, shops, gardens, reads and cleans. I think she sings in her dreams.
My mother never buys a loaf of bread. She bakes it every week and slices it with a big knife. Sometimes she lets me punch down the dough after it rises.
When I take my lunch to school, my sandwich sits crooked and looks like it’s ready to fall. My mother packs me carrot sticks, a hard boiled egg, an orange and an apple. There’s too much food and not one chip or pretzel like the other kids get. I like to order hot lunch.
My mother thinks hunting through the woods for mushrooms is fun. She took classes to learn about mushrooms so she knows which are good to eat and which ones are poisonous. I hate it when she asks my friends to go picking with her. But they love to go tramping through the dense green forest, climbing over fallen logs covered with moss. She points out the faerie rings where the mushrooms grow.
My mother grows vegetables in her garden, she won’t buy them at the store. But does she grow peas and carrots like the other mothers on our street? No. She’s proud of her eggplant, asparagus, spaghetti squash and rhubarb.
When my friends come over to play, my mother asks them to weed the garden.
“Nobody wants to weed. We want to play,” I tell her.
Then I turn around and the kids are lined up on both sides of her, pulling weeds as she tells them about the vitamins in vegetables.
My mother doesn’t read ordinary books by popular authors. She likes to read e.e. cummings with letters scattered over the page. I don’t know what the poems say. But my mother gathers up the letters and makes sense out of them.
Digging for clams up to her elbows in mud is how my mother catches dinner. She knows about razor clams that we dig in the surf and butter clams, littlenecks and cockles we find in the gritty gravel. She calls the ones we break with our shovels “clums.”
She picks oysters off the beach, shucks the top shell of and eats them raw right then and there. She eats the roe out of sea urchins and said, “It tastes like caviar!”
She’s the friendliest person on the street. She bakes wild blackberry pies for elderly neighbors and talks tomatoes with anyone who will listen.
She invites the neighborhood kids in, even if I don’t want her to. She doesn’t care when kids build a fort in our backyard or makes tents in the living room with old sheets. She lets us draw chalk pictures on the driveway and dig for China in the backyard.
At night when she tucks me in, I listen to her sing a lullaby with her beautiful voice.
When she kisses me good night, I love that my mother is a different kind of mother.
