Tuesday, February 28, 2012

If Walls Could Talk, Part Three: Mom and Me

Yesterday I pulled my mom's book, "Autobiography of Edwin and Elva Yoder" off my bookshelf to check how old I was when my dad had his first heart surgery.  (I was about fifteen).  I got caught up in reading the book again, including the section where each of my brothers and I wrote our memories of growing up with Mom and Dad.  I'm so glad Mom had that book printed; it's full of a lot of good stories!  She sold a good many copies.  (By the way, if you'd like one, I'll put you in contact with her).

As I read those tributes of my parents again, I got to thinking what truly wonderful parents I was blessed with.  I have a lot of good memories of my time with Mom in the kitchen and garden.

If kitchen walls could talk, they could tell you of one time (I think I was about fourteen) I was to mix maple-flavored icing for a cake.  We always used powdered sugar, butter, some milk and maple flavoring.  I don't know what I was thinking,  but I started putting brown sugar in with the powdered sugar for the "maple" flavor, and when I realized what I had done, I was dismayed and started to cry.  Mom came to me, put her arm around my shoulder, and kindly said, "Well, maybe we've started a new recipe!"  Ah, a mother's love!

A particular poignant memory I have is of the Sunday morning as a young teenager when I found a new rose-colored dress with lace and pink glass buttons hanging in my closet when I opened the door to get dressed for church.  I remember the happy surprise, feelings of love and being cared about that flooded over me. 

So many memories.  I remember a man we called "Adams" who frequently came by the house in a big produce truck to sell us potatoes, peaches, pears, or other things.  I can still hear his raspy, higher-than usual tone call out, "Need any potatoes today?"  Mom bought from him.

If walls could talk, they would tell of the Raleigh who man came to the door to sell pudding mixes, Jello, flavorings, air freshner, salve, liniment, Lustre Creme shampoo in a short, white glass jar, and all sorts of interesting things.  There were the Watkins and McNess salesmen, too.  These guys always had a stick of Wrigley's Juicy Fruit gum for us kids.  I liked to have them come to the house and was glad when Mom bought from them too.

Those walls could echo the voices of the door-to-door Fuller Brush and Stanley products salesmen -- the sellers of brushes, brooms, mops and more.  Then there were always the encyclopedia salesmen who came around almost every year.

Times sure have changed.  Now instead of using an encyclopedia, we "Google" for information on the internet.  WalMart, Target, Bed Bath & Beyond and many other stores have put the Fuller Brush and Stanley salesmen out of business.  And I saw recently that WalMart now carries a line of Watkins flavorings.

For the past twelve years or so, up until September 1, 2011, I set aside every Tuesday to spend with my dear  mother.  We'd go to the post office, bank, do some shopping, and then have lunch out somewhere.  We went to see a movie once, on rare occasion went to visit someone; a few times we worked on a puzzle at her house after I brought her home from our errands, and sometimes had a cup of tea.  We attended the same church.  Many a Friday evening, she, along with my brother George, his wife, and my auntie would come over for dessert and coffee on our back deck.  Sometimes she'd join me and my husband and others when we went out to eat every Friday evening.  Sometimes she'd come over with Auntie and they'd sit on our front porch and watch the people and traffic go by on a warm summer day.  Just like everything else, change came when she moved to Pennsylvania with my brother, his wife, and my auntie. 

Mom has always been there for me.  Supported me, loved me, prayed for me.  When I was so sick seven years ago, she'd walk up the hill of our back yard to our house and do my laundry and even cook for me sometimes.  And that's one thing I know will never change: my mother's love!  Mom, you're the best!

Copyright © 2012 Elaine Beachy

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