Just as visions of seed packets and garden rakes were dancing in my head, here we are. It is a cruel trick that Mother Nature plays in the month of March, and yet not completely unexpected. We know that a storm at this time of year will not last, and that warm days could come just as quickly as the snow. At such times we learn to sit and wait. Winter, like a headstrong leading lady must get these last lines out of her system. We are her captive, if unwilling audience.
Spring, like a gentle maid will wait. She knows that her time will come. Already we see her subtle hand in the daffodils that have poked heads through the good brown earth. She has coaxed the birds to sing early and her early winds have stirred the trees out of their winter slumber.
For now though, I sit and watch the snow fall. There is no choice in the matter.
Scooter is resolute. He can sleep in any kind of weather he says. And, so he can. Today he sat watching the tiny Juncos search out the feed on the ground, next to the black squirrel that most certainly dumped it there in the first place. They are striking in contrast against the white of the snow.
I decide it’s a good day to have our Corned Beef and Cabbage dinner. I think it will be a welcome meal on a cold and snowy day. It’s a day early, for we’d planned to have it on St. Patrick’s Day itself, but I think even Patrick would have to agree that the cold calls for desperate measures!! Erik informed me that he is bringing dessert tonight – some sort of pecan squares. Mmm, we’ll munch these and then sit cozy for the evening.
When my Aunt Ginger visited us last year, she brought a bundle of memories for me, literally. There were black and white photos and little magnets that had been on my Mom’s fridge and there were recipes that my Mom had collected over the years. It was the packet of recipes that I pulled out the other day. The newspaper clippings were yellowed and brittle with time, but places where Mom had simply written “Good” made me smile. My finger traced the cut line, and I wondered if she had sat at the wooden table with the chairs that had green painted seats when she cut it out. She would have used the black scissors that had belonged to her own Mother. Those were the only ones she had for years. I could almost see it in my mind’s eye.
Now for all the recipes that Ginger brought me, I couldn’t remember one that Mom had made, and that thought made me laugh out loud. Things that I do remember her making were Cauliflower Soup or Stuffed Peppers. I don’t remember liking either, but I do remember her making them.
She was born Lily Elizabeth Law on January 31, 1921 to one Alan and Ethel (Leaney) Law in Dogsnest, Ontario. She would grow up in a loving home with her parents and her brother Aaron, and later her dearly loved cousin, Helen.
When she was a young woman still in her teens she met and fell in love with my Grandfather, Alvin Charles Arthur Austin. He was tall and strapping and had “jet black hair”, she said. My Grandmother was lovely. My cousin Jill is today a younger version of my Grandmother. I love that.
They raised me. My Grandparents, when they were finished with babies and raising their own children, raised me. It was one of their most selfless acts, and they gave me the best years of my life.
It’s funny how little things like a bundle of recipes can open a panacea of memories; snippets really, like the little cuttings from the newspapers they’re yellowed a little around the edges. I see Mom and me picking cherries in the summer and I can almost taste the pie. She used to walk down the railroad tracks with me, for no other reason than it was fun.
I remember one time she was teasing me and kissing behind my ear. I told her to stop because she would tarnish my neck. She laughed and I remember checking to see if my neck was truly tarnished. She reminded me of that many times over the years.
She made costumes and wiped tears (and cried some of her own) and every year on St. Patrick’s Day she would make little shamrock corsages for all of the teachers at South School. I remember taking them all pinned onto a paper sheet and then passing them out. I wonder if she knows how much I loved her for doing that??
Then there came a day when I left home.
My Mom, my Grandmother has been on my mind these days. Eighty-three years has taken its toll. Life as it were always exacts its pound, I suppose.
Tomorrow I will put a shamrock on and wear it for my Mom. I’ll close my eyes and see the kind face of my Mom and I’ll see that little girl with the long blond hair headed up Norfolk Street. The teachers are waiting for those corsages.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day Everyone.
Love, Shelley
