The Way We
Were Raised
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Turned out
to be a surprise party at my house, planned by Ana and Leo, unbeknownst to
either myself or Michelle.
I knew Ana
and Michelle were coming over. I’d asked them if they would accept a lovely
tooled leather stool that had no acceptable place to live in my home but I
thought it would have several spots it would like to live at their place. Michelle
said they had to be in town so would stop by to get the stool.
I’d
considered asking Michelle if she’d bring her espresso machine but nixed that
idea. But I decided to whip together a batch of scones to slide into the oven
when I heard them turn off the highway.
In the way
of vague plans, this one picked up a gang of hitchhikers along the way. The
gals arrived shortly after the garbage truck turned down the lane so I never
heard a thing until the jangle-clang of the goat bell at my gate. Ana and
Michelle’s voices sang out a greeting as they came through the gate lugging a
laundry basket filled with food items to prepare breakfast.
Ana put
together breakfast burritos with all the trimmings. I slid the scones in the
oven. Michelle set up her aging one-cup espresso machine. We had a regular
restaurant going. Leo arrived and Janet walked over from next door. Talk about
feast and flapping lips!
I like a
good coffee. “I’ve thought about getting one of those small machines but then
I’d want it every day and it wouldn’t be a treat.”
“It’s the
way you were raised,” Michelle answered. “My Mom is like that.”
“Michelle
makes herself an espresso treat every morning,” Ana said.
The eyeballs
of my inner understanding shouted “ah ha” and instantly carried me back in
time.
My Grandma,
who raised me, had trunks of beautiful dishes and tablecloths and assorted
treasures which were only used for “good,” special occasions, such as Christmas,
only if we had guests.
For everyday
use we kept a printed oilcloth on the table. Remember Melmac? And aluminum
drinking “glasses”?
I was
thirteen when I made the decision that I would not have anything for “good”.
Everything I had, beautiful or functional, would be put to everyday use. I
rather prided myself for doing a good job of sticking to my decision.
“We are
never completely free of the old ideas with which we were raised,” Michelle
said, “No matter how vigorously we think we have scrubbed them out.”
“I’ll bring
you an espresso machine next time I go to Phoenix,” Janet offered.
Once my guests
departed, my mind began a walk-about of its own volition through aspects of my
raising. I’d figured to review a long list negative things I’ve overcome. I’ve
done it before.
Instead, I
found myself thinking about the more positive traits, passed to me through
family, and especially my tyrant of a grandmother.
Among things
given me by this grandmother, who genuinely resented every minute of caring for
me, who had raised seven children during the depression after her husband died
young, is an ability to approach problems creatively.
A good, if
somewhat rigid, work ethic.
Self-reliance.
Ha. Another double-edged sword, as harmful as it is a useful tool.
I was in
grade school when I made my first skirt with a fitted waistband and placket
closures with buttons, no pattern, no zipper, with Grandma at my shoulder.
Consequently, I never met a pattern I didn’t alter and later abandoned patterns
altogether. My way, by way of Grandma, is not better but surely is more fun.
In the
kitchen, leftovers become soup or fritters or meat pies or pasta toppings.
I learned
how to use all the parts of a chicken, including feathers and feet.
She taught
me how to make something out of nothing, a skill I have needed at times.
Running to town with the magic plastic is a last resort solution.
Perhaps,
more importantly, she taught me to get up, make the bed and get on with my day,
no matter what.
Thanks,
Janet for offering to bring me an espresso machine. I’ve thought it over. I’ll
stick with keeping that option for the occasional treat. I was raised that way.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
September
30, 2021
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I commented to a friend (who is 90 years old, BTW) that I never used my good china. She asked me “what are you waiting for?” and I decided that was a good question. It even goes in the dishwasher!
ReplyDeleteCongratulations! That's a good decision!
ReplyDelete