I was cleaning out my freezer last week because I just bought a half steer and a half hog and now I have to find a place to put all of it. I kinda hope this steer doesn’t weigh more than 50 pounds because it’s gonna be a tight squeeze. I came across the applesauce I made last year, by myself, without my mom’s help. It was really good, although not nearly as good as hers. I remember after she died, Dad and I cleaned out the freezer in their garage and he sent me home with lots of things she had made and then froze. Apple crisp, applesauce, soup, main dishes… One night about a 6 months after she died, (and here’s where you’re going to want to use your best Peter Brady imitation of Humphrey Bogart- Google it if you have no idea) I made pork chops for dinner and I pulled out her last two applesauce containers and served them with the meal.
I cried while I ate it.
It was heavenly. The texture was smooth and it was tart-sweet. I know it had some sugar in it because I had heartburn after, but I didn’t care. As I sat there and ate it, I pictured her in her kitchen, in one of her American flag t-shirts, surrounded by all the pictures of barns on her walls, churning the food mill by hand to separate the warm sauce from the seeds and the peels. I miss those days of canning fruits and vegetables and making pickles and of course, homemade applesauce. There is nothing at the store, I don’t care how much you paid for it, that compares with it. There’s just something about hers that makes it better. Maybe it’s because she made everything with love.
Saying that kind of makes me laugh. Remember that scene in Everybody Loves Raymond when Marie is trying to teach her daughter-in-law, Debra, how to cook meatballs? Debra isn’t known for her cooking skills like Marie, and Debra asks Marie to teach her. Marie takes Debra under her wing and says this…
“To make the perfect meatball, the most important ingredient is the love. Without the love, it’s just a ball of meat.”
Then she sabotages the entire process so that Debra can’t do anything right and Marie can continue to cook for her son, Debra’s husband, Ray. Freud would’ve loved that show.
It’s true, though, right? When you put love into something, the recipients know it- they feel it. What a beautiful way to share ourselves with others- by making them something that exudes the true love that each of us has inside.
My mom cooked and baked all the time. I’ve said this a thousand times over. I honestly don’t know how my mom did it- she taught all day, then she came home and made an extraordinary meal- I don’t mean hot dogs and mac and cheese. I mean she made a three or four course meal for us. And we sat down at the dining room table and ate it together. Every night. Every of the nights. Then she would collapse on the couch out of pure exhaustion and rest for a couple of hours before getting up and grading papers. And if you ever had my mom as an English teacher, you know she put her heart and soul into grading papers. She made us write all the time in her class. And she would grade everything– journals, essay tests, essay quizzes, and every step of the research paper process- notecards, rough outlines, rough drafts, final outlines and final drafts. And by grading, I mean she made corrections and comments on everything. She read it all.
Why?
She was putting love into it. She loved what she did and she genuinely wanted every student to succeed. Students hated her for it- until they got to college and learned quickly that a lot of college is writing papers. Or until they grew up and matured. Then they realized she loved them.
My mom rarely slept. That woman had so much love to give, she didn’t have time for all that resting nonsense. She just wanted to do so much for so many and she always did it with joy in her heart. Can you imagine if we all lived and loved that way? What a tremendous life that would be.
When I look around at all the rudeness, the hypocrisy and the pain and the loneliness in the world right now, I can’t help but think this would’ve broken her heart. She would want to do everything in her power to fix it. And she would’ve succeeded in a small, but big way.
Maybe that’s our homework this week. What can you do to make it better? How can you make life easier for someone? How can you build or mend instead of tearing down? Stop hurting and start helping. Stop clumping people into groups and judging them as a whole and get to know people on an individual level and find something good in them. Start loving people for who they are, regardless of who they vote for, regardless of what side of an issue they’re on, regardless of all of the surface stuff. Start looking into people’s hearts more and have compassion for them. Start talking more and texting less- jeez I can’t say that one enough.
Someone told me last night that for his birthday this year, the card I sent was the only one he received. Wow. This isn’t someone I’m related to or someone I’ve been really close to. He’s someone I knew from my childhood and still connect with from time to time. How sad is that? Have we resorted ourselves to just texting someone on their birthday now? No phone call, no card, no visit. None of those things are expensive or terribly time-consuming. We are a sad, pathetic bunch of people.
Get out there and visit someone who is lonely, pick up the phone so someone on the other end can hear the sincerity in your voice when you tell them you were thinking about them. And most of all, be thankful for all you have. Those people or things we are most thankful for don’t last forever.
This post made me feel feelings. I remember my grandma’s applesauce and I miss it. My sister has her final bag of grandma’s chocolate chip cookies in her deep freeze. They have lived in 3 houses in 2 states now. It’s coming on a decade. She can’t bear to part with them.
The things we do matter. The way we show people we care matters. Thank you for reminding us. 🥰