Hand-me-downs

Confronting my mom's apartment was overwhelming: not only was there a lot of stuff, but the thought of dismantling her home was more heartbreaking than we could manage right then. And so, because my mother was so amazingly organized, my brother and sister and I were able to leave that enormous task to another day.

While we were there, though, Courtney, Heidi, Annabelle, Emily, Aunt Harriett, and I did take the opportunity to raid her fabulous clothes closet from time to time. I needed a swimsuit; she had several, and the same was true for shoes, pants, tops, vests, and coats in the week we spent together before her funeral. We didn't feel guilty in the least: all of us knew that my pragmatic mother would have wholly approved.

In fact today Heidi wore a pair of my mom's pants to school, while I wore a fleece vest she got on our Alaska trip and her short Ugg boots. I know I took comfort in my outfit every single time I thought about it, and when the day was done, a quick glance at my watch showed that I had literally walked 3 miles in my mother's shoes.

Sadly, that journey has just begun.

My Spin

I miss my mom, and I find myself cooking as if she were visiting. Tonight? It's cauliflower pizza on the menu, one of my mom's specialties, but, being me, of course I couldn't just follow the recipe.

Oh no, rather than bake the pizza neatly on a sheet pan as directed, I had to preheat the pizza stone to 500 and roll, toss, and stretch my free form crust onto the peel before topping it with a hearty mixture of cauliflower, onions, and cheese.

As I gave the pizza a shake to make sure I could slide it on the stone, the topping flew off the edges. "Uh oh, Ma," I said, "this could be a problem."

And I knew that had she been here, she would have been torn between I told you so... and You can do it!

Choosing to go with the latter, I opened the oven and, with a little wrist action and a pair of tongs, was able to get that pizza baking. The final product was delicious, and I like to think that my mom would have thought so, too.

Doing Dishes

I spent the early part of my evening washing dishes. A lot of dishes. 11 dinner plates, 12 salad plates, 12 bread plates, 12 soup bowls, 12 monkey bowls, 11 1/2 saucers, 11 coffee cups, a creamer, a sugar bowl (with lid!), a gravy boat, a covered casserole, a large platter, small platter, and a oblong serving bowl. It was my grandmother's china service for twelve.

My mom's sister passed it along to me this afternoon in an enormous cardboard box. When we arrived home, I found the dishes wrapped in sections of the Washington Post from July to September 1972. My grandmother died in April of that year, and someone had carefully packed her china when my grandfather sold the house and moved in with my Aunt Harriett. The newspaper was yellowed and smelled of the decades it had spent in Harriett's basement. A stink bug jumped out at me from the first bowl, and so we dragged the heavy box out to the front stoop where I unwrapped the other 89 pieces.

Not surprisingly, after 47 years, they all needed a gentle scrub, and so I carefully carried the piles into the kitchen counter and filled the sink with warm, soapy water. There I dunked and wiped and rinsed and dried each piece of the Noritake porcelain stamped Made in Occupied Japan, admiring as I washed the tiny bouquets of zinnias and the red and gold band circling every one.

As I worked I couldn't help wondering who the last person was to wash these dishes. Was it my grandmother, after a dinner with friends? My grandfather, doing his part to help out at the end of evening of entertaining? Could it have been my mom, after a holiday meal? And when I was done, I knew the answer to that question, and it kind of made me sad that it was me.

That's What You Do

Here's a riddle I love:

First you throw away the outside
and cook the inside,
then you eat the outside
and throw away the inside.

The answer?

Corn on the cob.

Yesterday I bought some peeled corn on the cob from the grocery store. Out of season as it is, it was packaged in a colorful pre-printed cardboard tray with a message in a playful font  printed on one side. Remove, Heat, and Eat! it directed, implying the amazing convenience of the product.

Uh?

Yah.

It's corn.

She's Back

"How were the kids today?" a colleague asked me on my first day back to school in 3 1/2 weeks.

I considered my answer. They were happy to see me-- the pleasure and relief on their faces was genuine. And I felt lucky to return on Halloween, a day when it was easy to deflect any conversation. Not surprisingly, their writing pieces seemed a little unformed, but that may have been the case even if I had been there. What stuck out to me most was the casual disregard for rules and procedures I know I clearly explained.

"They were sweet, but definitely a little untamed," I answered truthfully.

She nodded.

"But that's going to change in a hurry!" I added.

Here's What I'll Say

If people ask me how I'm doing:

I'm glad to be back.

Even though it doesn't feel like it will be true.

According to Paul

Traveling home alone today after three weeks in Minnesota, I wanted a window seat, but all they had was the aisle, even when I double-checked at the airport. I wondered if, for some reason, I was meant to try an outside seat for a change, and I fought my bitter disappointment all the way down the jetway.

Arriving at 12D, I first noted that there was no window on the row, and I was also a bit relieved not to have to inconvenience the guy already sitting in the middle seat. "Don't get too comfortable," he reminded me as I fastened my seatbelt, "we're going to have to get up." A few minutes later we did just that to allow another guy to take his windowless seat.

"Hi, I'm Paul," said the first guy to the second.

"I'm Paul, too," the other man answered and they shook hands.

I didn't have to guess what was going to happen next.

"We're both Paul," the middle guy said to me.

"I heard," I told him. "That's easy to remember."

"What about you?"

"I'm Tracey."

"What do you do, Tracey?" he continued.

"I'm a teacher," I told him.

"I'm a southern boy," he laughed. "I hope you won't correct my grammar."

"I won't," I said, "I'll just silently judge you. But it won't be too bad-- I teach in Virginia."

"What brings you here?" he asked.

And that was a question I didn't expect. "My mom passed away last week," I answered, because I wasn't prepared to say anything else.

He grabbed my hand in his. "I'm so sorry," he said.

"Thank you," I said automatically, as I have many, many times in the last 8 days.

"I can tell you are just wrecked," he said.

"How?" I asked.

"Your eyes are so sad," he answered. "Losing my mom was the hardest thing I have ever been through," he continued, his eyes welling up. "I will keep you and your family in my prayers." And he gave my hand a squeeze. "Find a good movie to watch," he advised, and left me alone for the rest of the flight.