This is my annual birthday gift to Mother who is now 92 as of the date of this very issue of the world-famous Community News! I'm so excited to still have that woman in our midst, that I had to utilize the exclamation point.
What can I say that I haven't said in columns gone by about that delightful gal who almost died whilst bringing me into the world? (That is actually a true story, by the by. Many of you still remember that hideous and terrifying time, I'm sure, but I shall save that for another day.)
I could probably get away with plunking last year's piece into this space as her memory isn't what it once was but that might be considered to be inappropriate. As you all know, I'm ALL about being totally appropriate at all times so I suppose I will continue to type until you reach for a scotch on the rocks or some other cocktail. (I'm not sure why scotch came to mind but just go with it.)
Mother is what I lovingly call a freak of nature. The woman is much like that bunny that advertises the batteries as she never stops moving. I wish I would have inherited that particular quality but I did not. She says of me, “Lisa, you have two speeds, 197 miles an hour and ZERO miles per hour,” and that is a fairly accurate assessment, truth be told.
As I pound out this birthday gift for the chick across the yard, she is working at Stitch Art Custom Embroidery. I'm NOT making this up either. She works as much as possible and loves doing so—wow, the apple really DID fall far from the tree on that issue, now didn't it?
I accept my father's philosophy on work which would be to do as little as possible so that I can really enjoy life. David STOP reading this! (David is my boss, in case you didn't know.)
Before I'm removed from these award-winning pages, I best switch gears. Whenever I am out and about and run into a person who is familiar with Mother, he/she will oft' exclaim how terrific she looks for her age and how fashionable she remains to this day.
All of that is absolutely true; I totally take after her on that, of course. (I am making that part up to be clear.
As I've mentioned before, “dressing for dinner” to me means to simply pull something on over my wrinkled night clothing and head across the yard for the festive holiday gathering or other special occasion.)
Speaking of dinner, she enjoys going to dinner more than should be legally permitted. I swear, she awakens, wipes the sand from her eyes, pulls on some stunning slippers and exclaims, “Where should I go for dinner tonight?”
Her LIFE revolves around her next meal and of course, she weighs 10 pounds. WHY didn't I inherit that jazz? I look at food and put on 28 pounds and she inhales it with speed and agility and loses weight. Life is NOT fair. WAAAAAA! Sorry I think that may have served as my mandatory digression but I'm not sure. Let's just call it one to be safe.
To hear Mother speak of food is almost like hearing a romance novel being read aloud for all to enjoy. I called the other day to ask to borrow something, as is my nature, and she launched into the details about some “new place with terrific desserts.” By the time it was all said and done, I had forgotten the purpose of the telephone call.
I got to hear descriptions of just about every dessert this “new place” had to offer. This included sound effects on her part as well as she just about drooled with each passing word.
I've never seen anything like this, ladies and gents. When we go to “her” restaurant in Greenville, she gets a to-go box almost as the entree is being delivered so she can scoop more than half into that thereby saving room for dessert.
Keep in mind that Mother is diabetic. That reminds me of the time that I made the epic journey across the yard for whatever reason, to be greeted by a woman in tears. I didn't know what was happening but soon found out what the major malfunction in her life was. She tested too high and could not partake in dessert. I am NOT making this up. (I know I keep saying this because some of it is almost too unbelievable to accept. I assure you, it is true. The parts that have been embellished will be pointed out as well, of course.)
She stood there in her kitchen gazing at the apple pie portion she had cut for herself (half a pie leaving crumbs for the rest of us—embellishment) with tears welling up in her hazel eyes. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen, or one of them. She didn't burst out totally and weep whilst rocking back and forth in a corner or anything like that but she was VISIBLY weeping over the “non-dessert episode of 2010,” or some such date.
Believe it or not, I'm more of a crunchy snack kind of gal and don't live for all things sweet—although I won't pass them up either. Not Mother as she simply adores desserts of EVERY flavor, consistency, shape, size, nationality, religion, etc., blah, blah.
Mother used to be somewhat of a gourmet cook as well. I had the pleasure (?) of growing up having dinners that I couldn't even pronounce, let alone enjoy. One time I turned to my father and asked, “Dad, when can we have something American like spaghetti?”
My brother and sister only WISH they had grown up with this option as for most of their adolescence, they were subjected to unsavory meals prepared by our dear woman. She later developed the flair for preparing exotic meals or at least edible selections, from what I've been told.
I know I'm bursting the bubble surrounding Mother but it is true. She did not like to cook for many years and was admittedly hideous at doing so.
Eventually some friends got her into all this jazz more or less after my MUCH older siblings had flown the coup. My brother joked that in the olden days if someone sneezed at the table the roast would fly across the room due to the dry factor of it all.
One time she served my father a pie that didn't quite turn out as she expected. She told him, “Blaine, here is your bowl of pie.” I'm sure he gazed at her with that bewildered “I was just born” look and dutifully ate what was presented.
WOW! I'm really telling tales out of school or whatever the case may be but Mother will enjoy them, I'm positive. Mother—stop yelling at me for this!
She has a tremendous sense of humor and is an all round fun loving person so I think I'm OK to print this scandalous piece of family history.
In closing, and Lord it is time, I must get totally serious here as it's part of the annual formula. I cannot tell you how blessed I feel to still have my mother with me. I was sick the other night and was able to call my mommy for comfort. Not many people my age have that luxury and I really, truly, honestly, (can't think of other words today), am grateful that she is still alive, well and ready to lecture me for this column.
Happy birthday to Jacqueline H. Houserman, the best mother a woman could have. I love you more than words could possibly express. Have a terrific birthday and yes, we are going to Greenville, don't fret!
THE END (Interstate Crosscheck, AIPAC Lobby, “War is a Racket” by General Smedley Butler)