Tag: Sisters

Aunt Marge

On By DGThomaIn Family, TravelLeave a comment

My aunts have always been very important to me.  My mother was the oldest of seven children, six girls and one boy.  My aunts Ruth, Carol and Myrna died too young as did my Uncle Gary.  But, my mother, Aunt Helen and Aunt Marge were constants in my young adult life.

Aunt Marge only lived an hour away when we I was a child so we visited her more regularly.

In fact, when my daughter was born, it was Marge, and my cousins Lois and Stan that delivered me to the hospital.  My labor pains kept getting closer and closer and my cousin Stan drove faster and faster.  I was afraid of going to the hospital too soon and being sent home as “a false alarm” so I almost waited too long to go.  For eleven miles, I bemoaned increasingly closer and harder pains while everyone assured me it would probably be all night before she was born.

Not so!  Less than one and a half hours after arriving at the hospital, my daughter and first child graced us with her arrival.   By the time I was checked in and assigned a room, I was sure it was time.  The nurses fussed at me, telling me to be calm, but Marge asked them to check me anyway.

When the nurses realized my daughter was actually attempting to exit on her own, they slapped a gas mask on me and we rushed to delivery.  She was born just as we passed through the doors even though the doctor and nurses weren’t quite ready.  By the way my daughter is still going full force and showing no signs of slowing.  The interesting thing is she was born on August 2nd at around 8:30 pm, just 3 ½ hours before my Aunt Marge’s birthday, August 3rd.  In spite of my Aunt’s insistence that I should wait until after midnight, my daughter had other ideas.

But back to my Aunt Marge.  Whenever we visited, she would always cook our favorite foods.  When I was younger, I loved her hotcakes and hot cocoa.  The pancakes were the size of a dinner plate and the hot cocoa was chocolatey, buttery yumminess!  When my children were born they each developed their own favorites.  My daughter loved her chili beans and my son loved her fried potatoes.  She would always make chili beans and fried potatoes when we visited. No matter how I made those dishes, they just never seemed to be as good as my Aunt’s.

Southern Fried Potatoes

I love the memories of playing Wahoo with my cousins while listening to our Mom’s laugh and giggle as only sisters can.   I cherish those memories of sitting in the floor, listening to the sound of the dice skitter across the wooden board surrounded by the warmth of family. Wahoo

Heirlooms and Legacies…..

On By DGThomaIn Family, Food, Humor/Light Hearted, Musings, Writing2 Comments

Cooking dinner with my children is a favorite pastime.  I enjoy preparing meals more than sitting and eating together. Kitchens are less formal and more relaxing than most dining areas.

Both my children are wonderful cooks.  I taught them to cook and let them experiment when they were younger, but their culinary skills have far surpassed mine.  Now I normally watch them cook instead of cooking myself.

Recently my son was chopping lettuce as I leaned against the kitchen counter.  He remarked, “As soon as I wash this knife, I use it again!”  His knife is not special nor expensive, but he has an emotional attachment.   As I listened to him, I smiled.

I was reminded of a knife I purchased for my mother years ago.   I was a newlywed and found myself browsing through a department store happily perusing the kitchen section.     I pawed through everything from small appliances to cloth napkins.20150614_150044

I spied a wooden handled knife with a sharp point and narrow blade.  The knife appeared sturdy and capable of handling my cutting needs.  The name on the packaging read ‘Granny’s Boning Knife’.  The price was reasonable, so I bought one for myself and on impulse grabbed a second for my mother.

Excited, I dropped by my mother’s house to give her the knife.  My mother refused to take the knife unless I accepted payment.   She didn’t mind me buying her a gift, but she was a strong believer in superstitions.

She explained, “If you give someone a knife it will sever your relationship.”  I smiled as I took a dime and happily gave her the knife.  We loved those knives and often discussed the many ways we used them.

After several years, the wonder wore off, but I still loved the knife.  I moved to another state and didn’t get to visit with my mother often.  During a long awaited visit, my mother reached into the kitchen drawer for the knife only to come up empty handed.  She frowned and commented, “My knife isn’t here!”

Mom’s sister who lived down the street had borrowed the knife and apparently not returned it.  I suggested Mom call her and ask if she still had it.  When Mom called her sister, she asked, “Do you still have my Granny’s Boning Knife.”  2015-06-14 15.13.56

I saw Mom’s face break into a grin and heard a giggle.  She laughed into the phone and I wondered what might have set her off.  As she began to talk again I understood.

“No,” she said.  “It’s not our Granny’s knife.  It’s a Granny’s Boning Knife.  That’s the name.”   She explained I bought it for her.   I listened and laughed as well.  My aunt thought since Mom had the knife for years, she should share.  She explained to my mother she didn’t have any mementoes from their granny and it was a great knife.

I have to say that knife is still my favorite and I always think of Mom and Jeanette when I use it.


Sisters