Mom

With a scarf on my mind and my knitting needles, I think of my mom every time I pick it up to do another row. She taught me to knit at least four times, every time as patiently as the first and with a twinkle to see me all knotted up even as she helped me relax and do it again.

When I use my mixer to make yet another batch of cookies, I think of her gift of baking skills (and the mixer with a hand-sewn cover) and the joy I have in using that gift for those I love and hopefully passing it on to my children. I think similar thoughts when I mend a piece of clothing or sew up something for a gift on the machine she gave to my sisters and me the Christmas we all commented with no awareness of each other's thoughts that "I wished I had a machine."

When my mom comes to visit, she cooks the turkey because she loves to do it. Her gravy is the best.

Mom listens to me when I chatter on about nothing in particular and gives advice carefully when I need it and usually only if I ask. She's wise too.

She loves my kids. And my husband. And my dad. She gives me books and lets me eat her chocolate chips. And if I even get started on how she did a good job raising me and my sisters I'll never stop. She didn't let me eat the chocolate chips then (I did anyway but the cookies suffered), and she "stuck her nose in" when we played games like Scrabble (which habit I've picked up); she helped me grow and to grow up. She taught me that good eating habits and enthusiasm for play is good. And that, really, is just the beginning.

Thanks, Mom. I hope I do as good a job as you.

If you don't hit "publish", it doesn't. This is from 2 months ago.

My cooking style has developed over the years from many, many sources. My mom is a great cook and handed down much wisdom and many favourite recipes from her Mennonite Brethren background. I loved watching her prepare recipes while sitting at the kitchen island and, I suppose but don't remember, doing homework. I loved the challenge of baking cakes, cookies and even doughnuts as a young teenager. At university I lived with my sister who had been on her own for a number of years already and so I learned some quick and easy "throw-together" meals and techniques. Sautéing being one. "Tuna slop" on rice was a favourite meal even when Mom tsk'd over the name. Once I married I continued to read recipe books but found myself scrambling once the kids came along to produce food in seconds that met the Food Guide criteria and my little quirky eater. Can you say white? (Think bread and sugar, rice, etc. She never said it, but that was the theme.) Or the voracious eater...a whole banana presented to my 6 month old bought me, get this: 10 extra seconds.

Anyway, they survived. One thing I don't like is waste, and although I have always enjoyed eating leftovers, my little ones didn't.

?!?

So, I have learned to take yesterday's meals and rework them into today's. I will use recipe books as inspiration, adapting the ingredients list to fit my fridge and pantry. Often it works really well. Sometimes it bombs.

The other day after a particularly good dish, my family joked that I should write a cookbook. Ha! In order to do that I'd have to have a series of recipes for each recipe in order to include the taste from the leftovers that went into it. So, just for fun, here is the recipe I made up for yesterday's pork chili.

Cooked in a crockpot all day on low.
Use the leftover pork tenderloin marinated in vindaloo paste and yogourt then oven roasted. Add white beans and chickpeas, cooked; a jar of homemade tomato sauce canned last summer, and another of tomato relish for a little sweetness. From the back of the fridge please fish out the last half of the jar of chunky salsa and call that your onion and peppers and cilantro flavouring. A generous sprinkle of chili and cumin powder with salt and pepper. Nine hours later heat up the leftover rice and serve with a salad. Rave reviews all around and even better for leftovers today!

almost

The answer was almost yes. But the time for a decision was short and a strong nay was possible from a significant person. So we said no. The opportunity passed. And when the significant person arrived...his answer was yes.

We quick tried the phone, but the calls went unanswered. Deep tears welled up, a chin quivered and the arrow of disappointment entered my heart as well.

Why didn't I just say yes?