The Rural Voice, 1991-05, Page 42NOTEBOOK
A Tribute to Mother's Day
THE JOY OF COMFORT FOOD HELPS THEM REMEMBER
by Nellie Gritchen Scott
Lynnie hefted the ball of bread
dough speculatively; it was going to
be a good batch, she could tell. Liking
the feel of the living dough in her
hands, she patted it, remembering
bread -baking of years past, when the
boys `helped'; shaping their own tiny
loaves to be baked in salmon tins or
other weird shapes of their choosing.
A sob escaped her lips, in the remem-
bering.
Josh came in for a drink of water,
his eyes warm. He was getting the
yard ready for her flower beds and the
garden. "Hard at it, eh?" His way of
commenting on the obvious always
amused her; until now. "Relax!" He
grinned at her over the rim of his
battered enamel mug.
"The boys are bringing their
women home for Mother's Day and
you're telling me to relax!" Lynnie's
hands trembled as she put the dough
into a greased bowl to rise, covering it
with a clean tea towel. "I wonder...
will they like us?"
Josh snorted noisily, blowing his
nose hard into his handkerchief.
"Huh! Question is: will we like
them?" He put an arm around
Lynnie's ample waist, in a comforting
hug. "'Course they'll like us! Why
wouldn't they?"
"Well, for one thing," Lynnie said,
chin stuck out in that cute way she
had, "for one thing, Paul's bride is a
chef in one of those fancy hotels we
can't even afford to say hello in; not to
mention, Steve's lady friend designs
those clothes he photographs for that
glossy magazine he works for!"
"Oh! Is that all?" Josh teased,
chucking her under the chin.
"Oh, I suppose I am being foolish.
But we are out of touch. Relics of the
past, you 'n me!" They shared a
comfortable chuckle, then Josh went
out to finish his yard work and Lynnie
sat down for a minute, remembering
the boys as children. So long ago.
Only yesterday.
"Where did my little boys go?" she
said aloud, gazing at Paul's picture on
the mantel in his uniform. He was an
airline pilot now, jetting to every
corner of the globe. And, Barbara, his
bride of six months, was a chef in one
of the four-star hotels she'd mentioned
earlier to Josh. "I miss my boys, Gar-
field," she said to the yellow tomcat
beside her.
Lynnie felt a twinge of apprehen-
sion.
She'd talked on the phone with
Barbara, and they corresponded, but
they were, virtually, strangers still.
What would she think of Lynnie's
home -style cooking, and her old-
fashioned kitchen?
And then, there was Steve, and his
fashionable lady -friend. What was her
name again? Sabrina ... that was it.
Hmmmm, she mused, chicken and
dumplings, for the likes of her? Not
likely!
Lynnie was dismayed to find
herself wiping away a tear. Weeping
over dinner for her boys? What utter
nonsense!
On impulse, she dialed Betsy, her
neighbour a few miles down the road,
who could take anything (and any-
body) in stride.
"Betsy! Help. The boys are
coming home for Mother's Day, with
their women. What do I feed them?"
"They are? How lucky can you
get? I never see mine!"
"Betsy! I'm serious."
"Comfort food, lovely; you feed
'em comfort food!" Betsy chuckled,
and hung up. Lynnie's spirits
drooped. Comfort food, indeed!
Saturday night, she lay awake into
the wee hours, wide awake and
brooding; visualizing the disdainful '
expression on Sabrina's sophisticated
face; her in her designer clothes. And
best of all, Barbara, in her antiquated'
kitchen, nose in the air, as befit a four-
star chef in a posh hotel ...
Sunday morning dawned, despite
Lynnie's wishes to hold back the day.
Resolutely, she climbed out of bed,
careful not to disturb the gently
snoring Josh.
Memories of dinners past reeled in
her mind; wasn't there a chocolate
cake in the freezer? And, a roasting
bird? She went downstairs to check.
Check; on both counts. So far, so
good. She puffed upstairs with her
hands laden, thawing the small turkey
in the microwave oven the boys gave
her for her birthday last year (and sel-
dom used.) All those dials reminded
her of Paul's airplane cockpit.
Now then, wild rice, and
mushroom stuffing; braised zucchini
with onion; carrots'n dill sauce; not
forgetting a dash of nutmeg; thick
slices of homemade bread slathered in
good farm butter; chocolate cake with
fudge frosting, topped with toasted
coconut; food the boys were raised on,
familiar food. Comfort food. Betsy
had a point there.
�r
•
38 THE RURAL VOICE