Mother Less Day

I'm dedicating this post to those of us who don't have mothers anymore.

This isn't for those who can't bear children, or who choose not to bear children or those who've lost children.  This isn't about being a mother.

This is about not having a mother.

I am almost 51 and many of my contemporaries are losing their moms to age and illness. Some of us have lost them years ago and still bear the ache of that loss.

Mother's Day is a painful holiday for us. It's an unhappy club, exclusive by loss.

Reminders abound; reminders about buying the perfect gift, the perfect card, the perfect flowers, the perfect heart-shaped necklace. Reminders abound that our own mothers are no longer here to shop for, remember to send a card to, order flowers for, to make that Sunday morning phone call.

Many of us had difficult relationships with our mothers. Maybe we're more like them than we'd care to admit. Maybe our differences were so great the chasm could only be crossed by great compromise and purposeful quiet. Some of us were friends and companions or caregivers to our mothers. Some us remember our mothers as hero warrior goddesses who were impervious to the forces of day to day living and conquered mountains and armies to provide for us. Of course there are those who's moms barely held it together and lived in chaos.

Time has a way of softening the edges of our memories, sanding the burrs from the differences and difficulties and polishing the shine on our similarities and happy times. Our mothers were there to brush our hair from our forehead in the heat of fever. They wrapped their arms around us when we cried, even as teenagers when those arms embarrassed us or caused us frustration and conflict. They listened to us share our dreams and successes and held us up during our failures. Our mothers gave us the one thing no one else in the universe will ever be able to give us--absolute, unconditional, throw-yourself-in-front-of-a-train for you love.  No matter how ugly or mean or spiteful or crazy or emotional we became, our mothers loved us with the same all-consuming mama bear love that they felt the moment we were first laid in their arms.

We will never know or feel that love again. 

We have no choice but to accept that and sigh, look wistfully to the horizon and enjoy a private reverie, maybe shed a few quiet tears. It may be overhearing a mother and daughter in a dressing room joking around and laughing, bickering, teasing, to bring back, with the force of a thousand suns, the memories shared years earlier with your mom. Or watching a daughter link arms with her mother as they walk down the street, or seeing the back of an elderly woman's head who is the same build and stature. The reminders seem to come from no where. Every where. All at once. Or the moment you look down and see your mother's hand, realizing it's your own, or catching a glimpse in a mirror of your own face that echoes hers, or the voice you hear sounds like hers...but is your own. Or the voice whispering to you in your dreams, the fleeting misty view of her smile as she comes to you, from the other side, by your side, in the moments before you wake.

If you're reading this and you are blessed to still have your mother, hold her tight. Put aside your impatience, ego or differences and appreciate her. There will be a time, far sooner than you can imagine, that you'll be a member of this sorority. Send her a card, send her flowers, take her to brunch or do whatever you want to do to celebrate today. But tomorrow, call her, take her to lunch, tell her you love her and appreciate her and are there for her. Ask her for advice, listen to that advice. Ask her about her dreams, desires, wishes and ideas. Do whatever you can to make her life better, easier, more fulfilling. Be there for her. You won't be sorry if you do.

To my sisters and brothers in the mother less club, endure today. Enjoy your own families or find something you like to do and bury yourself in it. Try not to let the bombardment of the day make you sad. It's just another day on the calendar. Hold your memories close and know that no matter your relationship, there's a very strong likelihood, your mother loved you dearly and was incredibly proud of you.


I love you Mom. I miss you.

Lost And Then Saved

Twice.

I've had blog posts ready to go and by some means, I've accidentally deleted them while editing.

ARGH.

I hate it when that happens.  A few weeks ago I created a fairly complicated 8 page excel workbook at work, spending well over 2 hours on it. At one point, I opened an email that had an excel attachment, I opened the attachment, which had information I needed for my document. I closed that attachment, excel asked me if I wanted to save it, OF COURSE, I said NO and it closed ALL of excel and I lost my entire workbook.  Rending of garments commenced.  You'd think I've learned my lesson and hit SAVE SAVE SAVE with every word I type, but alas, I don't. *save*

Not much is new other than the 14 inches of snow we got on May 2. Heavy wet disgusting snow. Took down lots of trees and power lines along with the happiness quotient of everyone living in Southeastern Minnesota. Spring seemed almost within our reach and then Mother Nature decided to throw a giant hissy fit. Fortunately it's all gone now and the grass is gloriously green and lush and the trees are blooming and ready to pop out in full leaf. *save*

About two weeks ago I decided I needed to shake off my winter fugue and insulation. I've struggled with IBS for over 25 years and while I know certain foods cause a reaction, I've never been able to fully get a handle on my situation. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, I have a fairly predictable unpredictable gut that provides hours of time for reading.  I also have a spare tire I'm tired of dragging around. So, I gave up white, white flour and white sugar. I've also stepped back from all sweets and processed foods and pasta and bread and anything that one would consider a simple carbohydrate. I'm not doing Atkins or Paleo or any other specific diet, but just eating protein, very modest rice, wild rice and oatmeal, vegetables and fruit. I am using the "if it's a fruit or vegetable in it's natural form" it's ok to eat. If it's processed or manufactured, I'm avoiding it.  Interestingly, I feel a lot better, and my weight is starting to trend down. I harbor no illusion of getting my lumpy butt in a bikini, but I would like to wear a smaller size. The one thing I've noticed is my arthritis hasn't bothered me in a week. We went to see Trampled by Turtles (a Minnesota band--you should check them out!) the other evening and we stood for the entire concert. Normally my knees would be stiff and aching and bothering me for days after. But! Not now. They didn't hurt that evening, haven't hurt since.  I have to wonder if I don't have a gluten sensitivity that's been the underlying cause of my issues. *save*

I did create a new pork tenderloin recipe this past week. I had a bag of fresh spinach and some pork tenderloins to use. Normally I'd put the pork on the grill, but my grill was encased in a glacier which left me with indoor cooking. So I butterflied them, filled them with ham, Dijon, fresh spinach and 4-Cheese blend, rolled them up, rolled them in an herb blend and baked them. They were delicious! You will have to use your imagination about how they look because I didn't take their picture.

Spinach and Cheese Stuffed Pork Tenderloin

This recipe uses two whole pork tenderloins, about a pound each. You can cut the recipe in half to create one tenderloin. I reheated the second whole tenderloin in the oven at 325 for 20 minutes and it was perfect.

2 pork tenderloins, silver skin trimmed off.
8 slices Black Forest Ham (or baked ham)
2 cups shredded Quattro Formaggio-Italian Blend cheese with Provolone, Parm, Mozz and Romano (I used Trader Joes)
1/4 c. Dijon mustard
4 c. fresh rinsed and dried spinach

In a separate bowl mix:
1/4 t. garlic powder
1/2. t. lemon pepper
1/4. t. thyme leaves
1/4. kosher salt


Also have on hand a ball of kitchen twine or string, toothpicks, a meat mallet, saran wrap and a parchment - lined baking sheet.

Preheat the over to 375.

Lay out a large area of saran wrap. Place one pork tenderloin on the saran wrap and carefully cut it down the middle like a book, taking care not to cut all the way thru. Flatten the tenderloin and cover with saran wrap. Pound the tenderloin until it is a large flat piece of meat, about 1/4-1/2" inch thick. Remove the saran.

Cover the inside of the tenderloin with 4 slices of ham. If the slices are smaller, use more, but 4 large thin slices should be enough. Spread half the Dijon mustard across the ham. Lay half the spinach on top of the ham and sprinkle with half of the cheese. It looks like a big pile but it will compress when you roll it.

Starting at the wide end closest to you, carefully roll up the tenderloin, pushing the spinach and cheese into the middle. Secure the roll tightly in several places with twine. Secure the ends with a couple of toothpicks. The ham slices will act as "insulation" to prevent the cheese from melting out.

Sprinkle half of the herb mixture over the tenderloin and rub in all over. I rolled the tenderloin on the saran wrap with the herbs. Move the tenderloin to the baking sheet, seam side down.

Repeat with the other tenderloin.

Roast in the over for about 35 minutes, testing with a meat thermometer to the thickest part of the tenderloin. It should read 150-remove from oven, TENT the tenderloin with foil and allow to rest about 5 minutes. It will continue cooking and this allows the cheese time to set.

Carve and serve.

*save*

My Beef with Mother Nature

Well, here we are, another week and another snowy, icy, sleety morning. We must have really done something to piss off Mother Nature because she sure is punishing us with this "spring." Our temps are running 15-20 degrees below normal and while we have needed the moisture, we've had storms one right after another for almost 2 months.

We had sunshine all day yesterday which felt incredible, but it never got warmer than 40. We got out for the day and took a scenic ride over to the Mississippi river. We live about 40 minutes southwest of the river and it's very scenic, both driving over and the road that runs on the Minnesota and Wisconsin side. We started in Wabasha, home of Grumpy Old Men and The National Eagle Center.  The river was running a little high and very fast. There was still some ice and snow on the shaded banks, and the back pools were still icy, but the main river was open. None of the trees were budding yet and the grass is still brown.  We headed north to have lunch at Reads Landing Brewing Company in Reads Landing.  It's a very picturesque, very old brick storefront that has been lovingly restored with painted tin ceilings, exposed bricks and beams and a beautiful oak bar. After lunch we hopped the railroad tracks and walked to the river's edge. There were bald eagles, white pelicans, ducks, geese and herons.

We drove up to Lake City and wandered around an antique store that had once been a shell-button factory. Did you know there is a lake on the river? At a very wide spot, the river slows and Lake Pepin was created.   Then we drove to Red Wing, home of Red Wing pottery and Red Wing shoes.  It was a lovely day out and nice to get a big dose of Vitamin D and some fresh air!

We stopped at the grocery on the way home and burgers on the grill really sounded good. Our grocery was out of my favorite Thousand Hills ground beef, so I decided to take a leap and grind my own burger. I really hate grocery store ground beef-it's either too fatty, too watery, too mystery meat or is full of bone flecks. You never know how or where it was ground, or what all was thrown into the grinder. I managed to find my Kitchen Aid meat grinding attachment earlier in the week and figured this couldn't be too hard.  So I got a nearly 4 pound Angus bottom round roast, and came home and googled "grinding your own hamburger."

As predicted, it was almost too easy. I cut the roast into small pieces, laid them out on a parchment lined baking pan and put the pan in the freezer for 20 minutes to firm up the beef. I assembled the grinding attachment and started the grill.  After 20 minutes, I spent less than 5 working the beef through the grinder. It was not messy (the freezing locks the liquid into the meat so there's nothing runny or juicy) and the beef was this beautiful bowl of light fluffy ground beef. I lightly molded three patties, pressing a depression into the middle of each (when the meat cooks, it shrinks. Creating a depression in the middle prevents hockey puck burgers) and seasoned them with kosher salt, pepper and a light dusting of garlic powder.  The rest of the beef is waiting for Meatloaf Monday in the fridge.

Once the grill was ready, I popped them on, gave them 4 minutes, flipped them and let them finish. I lightly buttered a couple of split bakery buns, toasted those on the grill and when the burgers hit 145 (yes, I went medium) I pulled them and let them rest a few minutes while the cheese melted on them.
I sampled an unadorned bite first, and was really impressed with the lightness and tenderness of the burger. The flavor was incredibly beefy and rich and not greasy. The roast had minimal fat and I would say the ratio was close to 90/10. This was easily one of the best burgers I'd ever had. I particularly loved the control I had over the meat--knowing what went in, when it was made and how it was made.

I will be making my own ground meat from now on. I might even be tempted to make my own sausage--I can picture some pretty amazing homemade brat patties or breakfast sausage! While I'm not a food purist--I don't need to know every hill and dale my meat comes from, and  I read labels and buy minimally processed foods, we do enjoy an occasional box of Kraft Dinner.   I shop mindfully,  Living in Minnesota, it's difficult for 5 months out of the year to buy only local produce, unless we want to live on potatoes and rutabaga. I support local farmers when I buy happy free range chicken and eggs, local small pork producers and organic grass-fed beef.  It is more expensive, but the food tastes better and I would like to think the animals are happier and live more aligned to their nature. I've used CSA in the past, but with mixed result, the weather is unpredictable and it's an expensive investment in muddy under-developed produce. We tend to buy directly from the Farmer's Market instead where we can buy fresh meats and produce in one stop.

Looking out my back window, I'm reminded of the unpredictability of the weather. Since starting this post, we've picked up nearly an inch of snow.  HB just got up, walked to the window and muttered, "what the fuck."

I think that's as good as any ending for this post.

WOE DOOM DESPAIR!!!!

Sorry.

Just needed to let it out. The weather here is enough to turn a happy optimist into a chain-smoking emo chick with a bad Franzia habit and a notebook full of existential haiku.

Doom Woe Misery
No sun warmth light or green
Die Mother Nature Die

(Ok, so it's not technically a haiku. If you have one better, feel free to share it in the comments)

Goodness, we've had a lot of winter. It's sleeting-snowing-icing-Lord-knows-what outside. We haven't seen the sun in nearly 2 weeks.  It's April 14 and we still have winter snow piles in our front yard. We haven't had a day over 50 yet.  You thought I bitched about the weather in January?  Right. I now reserve the right to gripe. Enough is enough. None of our trees are budding, nothing is coming up yet, the grass is barely turning green. The only thing green is the moss growing on the north side of all our trees. Yeah, that's a real harbinger of spring.

I need to change the subject. This is way too depressing!

We had our big Catering Expo and Open House at work on Thursday. This is a huge house-wide dog and pony show that I organize and coordinate. We don't do it every year, the last one was in the fall of 2010.  Our catering numbers are down a little and we're finding we field a lot of questions from Admin assistants who are new so hosting a big event like this is a great way to showcase our services, our rooms, our food and our friendly service. 

OF COURSE, there was a terrible ice storm Thursday morning so schools were closed. Fortunately all of our staff made it in, but our attendance was affected about 15-20% from what we expected.  The feedback forms were all really positive and on Friday, our room reservation person said she was already getting calls for bookings.

I enjoy putting on big events, but it's always a huge relief when they're over and put away.  We had 9 different tables set up with place settings, centerpieces, color schemes and assorted rental items to showcase what we can do. Our sampling buffet included a couple of new salads, three hot entrees, a side dish and two desserts. There were other nibblies available in other rooms along the tour. When in doubt--feed people!

Didn't have time to do a lot of cooking this week, made a big batch of homemade chicken and noodles and had that several nights.  Last night I made spaghetti with an Italian sausage and zucchini sauce that was pretty good. Just brown half a pound of bulk hot Italian sausage til done and crumbly. Drain and wipe out the skillet. Add a little olive oil and saute a 4-5 coarsely chopped mushrooms, half a diced zucchini and a chopped wedge of red bell pepper til slightly softened. You can add onion and garlic if you wish. Add one jar of your favorite marinara sauce (I used Prego Heart Smart) and add the sausage back to the sauce and vegetables and simmer about 5 minutes. I added 1/2 t. Penzeys' Italian Herbs to this. Toss with spaghetti with some freshly grated Parmesan and a salad and you've got a nice easy dinner.

Today I'm making an Eye of Round Beef Roast. It's sitting out at room temperature right now tempering before I put it in a 500 degree oven. Then you immediately knock the temp back to 475 and roast it just 7 minutes a pound (mine's 4.8#) and then turn the oven off and let it sit in the hot oven for 2 or so hours. The reviews I've read on this method all rave so I'll let you know how it turns out.  I've had a taste for a good roast beef...with mashed taters and gravy. NUM!!

Here's hoping to fair weather, warm breezes and a change in attitude.

Forgotten But Not Gone!

No, I haven't given up on the noble cause of blogging or discussing food or weather...I've just been really busy!

My favorite time of day to write and ponder is early morning. I am up every day before 6, even on the weekends. I've always been wired to early day, even as a kid I'd get up insanely early to watch cartoons or read my books. Sunday mornings were an interesting mix of Davy and Goliath, Mass for Shut-ins and the Sunday funnies until my parents got up and got me moving for Church.

During the week, I'm almost always awake before the 5:48 alarm. I get up, let the dog out, get the coffee started, empty the dishwasher, let the dog in, turn on the fish tank light, and rifle through the mail. Most of the time I turn on the local news and sometimes I read the previous evening's paper.  I get most of that accomplished before 6:15. Some days I grind coffee, some days I clean the stove from the previous night's dinner mess and sometimes I start a load of wash.

Once my tasks are done, I snuggle up with a fresh first hot cup of coffee, spending 30 minutes checking email, the news headlines, hitting up the gossip columns, looking for recipe ideas and reading a few blogs.  By then, the life-giving caffeine has found my brain and the sparks are starting to spark and bright ideas are taking shape. Well, maybe not entirely bright ideas, those generally come to me in the shower, but at least the fog is lifting and I can be reasonably sure which way is up.

Most weekday mornings, my time is limited. I need to get moving by 6:30 and I'm generally out the door on the way to work within an hour. I'm busy thinking about what I'm going to wear, what I'm going to pick for HB's outfit (Yes, he lets me pick out his suit and tie every day. He scoops cat boxes--we're even.) and just how much discipline I'm going to mete out to get my hair to behave. In short, I don't have time to write in the mornings. By the time I get home in the evening,  I'm pretty fried and have already thunk all the great thoughts I'm going to think for the day.  I get dinner going, watch the news, eat, clean up and by then, it's nearly 8 and I need to play Words with My Neglected Friends and struggle to stay awake til bedtime! 

That leaves weekend mornings for spilling profound words of multiple syllables, however...the last two weekends, I've slept in. 

To sum up? I've blown off this blog for sleep.

Here's some of my life in the past two weeks:

I'm bummed The Walking Dead season is over.
I'm happy The Voice is back on.
Who knew Vikings were so hot?
There's actual grass showing in our yard.
There's a winter storm headed our way later this week.
We booked our holiday cruise. We are heading to Budapest for an 8 day cruise up the Danube to Vienna, Salzburg, Bratislava and maybe some time spent in Prague before coming home. Christmas Markets here we come!
Taxes. No need to elaborate.
Easter Ham. For a week. No more ham for a while. I'm feeling hamish.
My Uncle lost his struggle with Alzheimer's. Peace at last.
Mammogram completed. Freaked out over first ever call-back for a second set of scans.
All clear. Cried when the tech told me there was nothing on the second set of scans.
Felt like the weight of the world was lifted.
Bourbon chicken, cooked quickly in the slow cooker. Don't ask.
Dead goldfish. Belly up. RIP. (FIP? Float in Peace?)
Work drama. Defies understanding, but really ignites frustration.

There's more but that's enough for now.

More to come. Sometime. Soon.

Promise.

Through the Generations

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

What? It was last week? Are you sure?

Hmm, ok. Sorry about that! I've been really busy and fighting a persistent cold-not-quite-a-cold-not-allergies bug and time has gotten away from me.

My sense of time isn't helped by the never ending scenery outside my window. WINTER. SNOW. COLD. The only indication that spring is waiting impatiently in the wings for winter (the over-staying party guest) to leave, is the lengthening day light. And the birds are doing a lot more singing.

I did make the requisite corned beef, colcannon and Irish soda bread last week. I like to braise my corned beef in the oven, not simmered on the stove. It was good but salty. It was a new brand I've not had before and I should have soaked it in cold water for an hour or so before cooking.  Colcannon is an unholy marriage of sauteed cabbage, onions and mashed potatoes with a whole lot of butter, salt, pepper and freshly chopped parsley. I almost felt like I needed to go to Confession after that.

When I was a kid I spent almost 10 years in Irish dance class. Every Saturday and one night a week I'd head over to Mrs. McNamara's house where several kids were taking dance lessons and we'd learn new hornpipes, jigs, reels and line dances. My Mom made me a couple of dancing outfits, my favorite was a teal blue with elaborate embroidery on the circle skirt, chest and yellow shoulder cape which were designs from the Book of Kells.  I danced in the Chicago St. Pat's parade, a number of Irish bars and restaurants (Hackneys!) and after we moved from Chicago to Milwaukee, I danced in the Milwaukee Folk Fest, St. Pat's parade and at other venues. It was a lot of fun.  I also competed in several feis, (pronounced "fesh") which are dance competitions. I outgrew my favorite dress, got a job and lost interest as I moved through high school. I had friends in High School who continued their studies and one went on to do some professional dance work in the Irish dance community.

My Dad took great pride in being Irish. Ironically, he wasn't very Irish. He never knew his father's side of the family, he was the son of a single mother. He had spotty memories of their family and always referred to them as "Buckley" which is an Irish name. My Dad's last name (and mine) was an invention of sorts so my Grandmother could  protect herself from small-town ridicule when she had my Dad...she went from Miss Sorg to Mrs. Adams. Her beau's last name was Adams, but his mother's last name was Buckley. My Dad extrapolated that to his desire to be half-Irish. My Grandma was always very tight-lipped about my Dad's father's family and after she passed, we found very few papers related to his patronage. I know my Dad had always hoped to fill in the missing pieces of his family. His mother's family was German, full of rich names like Harkenrider, Sorg, Landstoffer and Martiney.

After my Mom died, my Dad's health slipped from precarious to dire to doomed. I was with him every single day for over 4 months and when you have that much time with someone, you start to look for things to do. I decided to spend some time researching his family history and through the magic of the Internet and Ancestry.com, I was able to introduce my Dad to his Grandfather and Grandmother, his aunts and uncles but unfortunately, not one of his own father. We discovered where the family lived, where his people came from and about the devout nature of their faith. (They were reform Ana-Baptists, closely related to the Amish in their beliefs but not necessarily adhering to their non-modern lifestyle.)  I was unable to find a photo of his own father, but my Dad was so happy to finally have found pieces to his family puzzle. He learned he bore a striking resemblance to his Grandfather.

My Dad learned that his family wasn't named Buckley, but rather, Buckey which is an Americanized version of the Franco-German Bouquet. One distant relative did hail from Northern Ireland, which pleased him. He learned he had a relative named for Abraham Lincoln. He had another that fought in the war of 1812. He had other relatives who were part of local militia who fought in the War of Independence and further back, discovered a relative who came to the Colonies from England and lived for a time in Plymouth before leaving to found a new community in New Jersey. 

More importantly, he learned that his mother and father weren't permitted to marry because of religious differences. I think my Dad always felt a sense of abandonment, that his father walked away from he and his mother.  My Dad was raised more by his Grandma Mary and for the first few years, Grandpa Mike as his mother worked at the local dairy as a butter stamper. Grandpa Mike died when my dad was almost 6, he'd owned a ditch-digging business and the Depression had been very hard on them. He had a massive stroke one day and that was it. My Dad said he could remember blazing rows between Grandma Mary and the "other" family when they would come to visit, Grandma Mary saying "no one was going to take her Baby Joey away from them!"  Grandma Mary was the oldest of 11 children and no doubt, fiercely protective of her own.

My Dad always said I reminded him of Grandma Mary. I have her sense of humor, her love of food and cooking and no-nonsense approach to life. I never had the chance to meet her, she passed away less than a year before I was born. My Dad sat with her in the hospital as she lay dying. He said she'd had a ruptured appendix and she died from sepsis. She would have been in her early '80s, and up until that time, had never been sick a day in her life.  I have a number of her keepsakes, her china hutch from the 1906 Sears catalogue, her wind-up mantle clock, her own Grandmother's immigrant trunk.  They have always felt familiar to me, as if I'd had been the one to pick them out and use them.

When I researched Mary and Mike's sides of the family, (Harkenrider, Sorg, Landstoffer, Martiney) I discovered the families originated in the French-German area known as Alsace-Lorraine and the Black Forest. Hmmm, that explains my love of Black Forest Torte, Quiche Lorraine, beer, wine, pork in every form and cheese!!

As HB and I were exploring options for a vacation this year, we were looking at a trip to Alaska with some friends who are also celebrating their 10 year anniversary. We discussed all of our day trips and activities and while we would like to see Alaska someday, we just couldn't find enough enthusiasm to engage in activities that either make us seasick, car sick or suffer crippling vertigo. So we started talking about going to Europe. After all the ancestry research, I'm now familiar with names such as Strasbourg and Kehl and Colmar and the Rhine.  We've decided to go on a winter river cruise down the Rhine from Amsterdam to Basel.  It intrigues me to no end to know that what goes around comes around. Hopefully somewhere long the way I'll have a chance to tread lightly on my homeland and feel the spirit of my long-ago relatives in the air.

Trial Through Fire Sale

I have a post started and it's sitting in draft mode. I don't know what or how to say what I want to say, so it's easier (lazier) to just leave it sit. My Mom's birthday was Friday, yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of her passing and I have so much I want to share but have hit a wall. It's not an emotional wall, so much as a concrete creative block. I wanted to write about some recipes, the weather, some work stuff, but it just seems kind of trite in light of these anniversaries.

Yesterday passed without much effort. Friday passed without much effort as well.  I have learned in two years that the anticipation of the "big events" is far greater than the emotions that come on the actual days.

I have no intention of turning this blog into a doom and gloom sympathy and grief blog. I enjoy (and hope you do to) reading about recipes, cooking and other random observations. But my experience two years ago was so earth-shaking and world-rocking that it's very hard to tease it out and ignore it. It doesn't help that this is the window of time where everything went to hell and there are so many triggers that ignoring the elephant in the room just leaves me stepping in what the elephant leaves.

My Mom would have been proud of me yesterday. I enjoyed a marathon shopping trip to Kohls. I used my 30% off bonus, $10 coupon for men's wear and scored a boatload of Kohls Bucks.

Kohs was one of her absolute favorite stores, living in Milwaukee during the early days of Kohls department stores. She always took great pride in finding great deals, 30% off, senior discounts, Kohls bucks--she would joke they had to pay her to take merchandise out of their store. When I first moved to Rochester, my Mom was distraught to discover we didn't have a Kohls. She sent several letters to corporate and lobbied hard. Of course when it was announced a Kohls would be opening, she assumed full responsibility.

In the days before her death, HB and I went to the Kohls up the street from their house so I could take a little break. When I'd run home to be with my Mom for her last doctor's visit, I had only packed clothing for a few days. Little did I know I'd still be there two weeks later, facing the end of her life and subsequent funeral with only a pair of jeans and a few tops.  Walking in the front door I started feeling this oppressive weight bearing down on me, almost to the point of a physical burden on my shoulders. HB headed off to look in the men's department and I browsed through clothing. My heart wasn't in shopping, but I tried to focus on finding a few things. 

HB and I met up in the center aisle and wandered over to housewares. As hard as I tried to stay focused and just enjoy a little freedom from the dread of what was coming and the stress of caring for my terminally ill Mom, I was having sneaking thoughts drifting through my mind like the smell of smoke and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from.

Mom will never shop here again. You'll never hear her talk about her great deals again. She loved Kohls. She's dying. You are going to be a motherless daughter.  You will never see her again. Oh my God.

Up until this point, I'd handled the news of her terminal situation, agreeing to care for her at home in her final days and scrambling to finalize POA and other end of life issues without tears. It happened so quickly and so matter-of-factly that I guess I hadn't been in any condition other than shock. I am a strong person and needed to be strong. My Mom was dying, my Dad was in terrible shape and needed me and I shoved my own emotions aside just to muscle through. Apparently the months of worry and weeks of concern and days of dread finally snowballed into an avalanche.

Without warning,  and without any ability to control myself, I burst into tears. There comes a point where emotions well up and take over and you are absolutely powerless to control them. There I was standing between Rachel Ray Pans and Calphalon, completely losing myself to hysterics. HB was a few rows down and took one look at me and came running.  Other customers eyed me, probably wondering why anyone would cry over a sale.

HB asked what was wrong and how do you explain something so random as my Mom will never shop at Kohls again?, when in truth my Mom is dying and I can't stop it. I am facing a life without the one person who was always there for me, always my greatest champion, the one person who could hold a mirror up to me and my life and tell me what I needed to hear even if I didn't want to hear it. My Mom, who battled 6 years of infertility to have me. My Mom, who fought so hard to be a good Mom to me in spite of her own horrible upbringing and her Mother's abuse. This complicated, prickly, difficult woman who gave me life and helped me be a strong powerful smart woman was leaving me and I wasn't ready to let her go. My Mom, who frustrated me beyond words, but whom I knew loved me more than life itself was going away and I would never see her again, never hear her voice again, never share another thing with me and who would never be there for me again. And she would never shop at Kohls again.

I was afraid I'd be banned for life from Kohls. It's bad for business when someone is hysterically losing it in housewares. I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe that's why I need to share so much of this here, in my blog. That my feeling like an idiot, My Mom will never shop at Kohls again...while kind of random, is a way of dealing with something much greater and much more frightening. Getting it out here validates what I went through, remembers he story and gives me a place to share something that I didn't have anyone to share with at the time.

There's no dramatic ending to the story. HB held me while I cried. I dried my tears. I made a purchase and we went home.  I didn't tell my Mom about my meltdown. She didn't need to know. I know she was worried about me, but I was strong for her.  She had given me the gift of caring for her and I needed to continue honoring that with courage.

My receipt from yesterday reads, "You saved $745.12"  I'd like to think somewhere, my Mom is laughing and thinking I could have done better.