I Take You With Me

My mother died last week. In going through her treasures over the weekend, I came across a gift book I’d handwritten for her in 1999 when I thought it time to smooth out our rough spots and express the fond thoughts of her I shall always carry with me. Here are some excerpts.

I TAKE YOU WITH ME, by Mary

“Dear Mom,

“I think fond thoughts of you more often than you know. This little book is my way of letting you know that I take you with me. Love, Mary

“Last month I gave away the decorative pillows that went with my couch. I was tired of picking them off the floor, and I remembered what you said when there were four of us kids constantly making a mess. You said you didn’t want toss pillows because they just get thrown around.

“Early in spring you took us for walks in the woods and taught us about cowslips and buttercups and trilliums. How else would I know?

“When I eat an apple I try to eat it right down to the core. You told me I was a good girl when I didn’t waste any of the apple.

“I helped a friend clean her house last month and she asked me why I used amonia. Because, I told her, that’s what my Mom uses.

“Not very many people know the comfort of having hot fried eggs placed lovingly on their congested lungs, but I do.

“Whenever I cut Greg’s hair I am grateful that I learned to cut hair – from you.

“I never iron a shirt without remembering your ironing lessons. I still do the collar last because you told me to.

“When I was little and had a tummy ache, you’d rub my belly in a soft circular motion for what seemed like a very long time. Even then, I thought it must be awfully boring for you. I would try to fall asleep FAST.

“Yesterday I tried to thread a needle and couldn’t see the hole. When you were my age, you would often ask me to thread the needle for you.

“White cotton dish towels will always remind me of you. They are the best, as you said.

“Lock the door when you’re home alone, you said. I still do. “Lock your car so you know there isn’t anyone hiding in the back seat next time you get in. I still do.

“I polished some brass last weekend and thought about polishing the silverware we used on the farm. I wondered how many Betty Crocker coupons it took to get all that silver.

“You listened as I read my Edgar Allen Poe book aloud to you as you ironed. You told me I was good about reading ‘with expression.’ It made me feel SO good.

“The bathroom sink at your house is always as clean as a fresh hotel room. I think of you every time I clean the bathroom sink, even though it isn’t every day – the way you taught me.

“You once had me make a banner for you that said ‘Ordinary Day, let me be aware of the blessing you are!’ I know what that means now.

“It’s 90-degrees, but so what if the mosquitoes are out. Tie a scarf around your head, put on some long pants, shoes, socks – and let’s go blackberry picking, you’d say. You said I should just ignore the big fat worms on the berry vines.

“Greg made a meringue for his lemon pie the other day. I got to thinking how you’d make meringue even though you had so dreadfully much to do. How DID you manage?

“I never pass a field of corn without wishing for a cob or two to play dolls with. You are the creator of some great memories.

“Old tee-shirts make good dust cloths. Your voice is heard every time I dust.

“I wish I had your way with house plants. I try, but I think you would feel quite sorry for mine.

“When I tuck myself in bed at night, I often see you at the foot of the bed. I would ‘lift’ and you would tuck the covers under my feet.

“I went to test a pen last week on a piece of scrap paper. I found myself making those loops you said were part of your penmanship lessons as a kid.

“Once when you were the Easter Bunny, coloring eggs, you stencilled the corner of a white cotton dish towel with egg dye. I remember thinking that was a very strange thing for the Easter Bunny to do, but it was SO exciting.

“When Jake was little, I used to sing ‘Bicycle Built for Two’ for him. You sang that song to me when I was little.

“Custard topped with cinnamon; that’s what I’m hungry for. But it has to be yours!

“I fixed pork and sauerkraut for supper last week, but I was too lazy to make the potato dumplings. You would have made them.

“Today I told someone about the way we used to cook chicken feet and suck them clean. I love having those stories to tell.

“When I pick the green beans in our tiny garden, I think about the huge gardens you grew. Little did I realize what a fine art there is to successful gardening.

“A few days ago I used tin foil to cover a pan of cake. When the cake was gone, I folded the tin foil to use a second time. I am grateful for a mom who taught me not to be wasteful.

“When baking cookies, some people cool them on wire racks. I cool them on newspaper because that’s what you did.

“If memory serves me right, I spent a joyful day at home alone on the farm when I was about 12, painting our kitchen pale yellow. I remember thinking I was much too young to be trusted to do a good job all by myself, so I was extra careful. I think about that day whenever I paint.

“When I was little and had a fever I would spend the day on the couch and you would open a jar of homemade blackberry sauce. Love in a Mason jar.

“I have a vague memory of you making soap from lard in a big tub. Did you really do that? And if so, didn’t you have ENOUGH to do?

“My brass polish smells like a home permanent. It’s a comforting smell because it makes me think you must be nearby.

“You would say ‘Of course you’re pretty! All young people are pretty – if they’re clean!’ I find myself thinking that very same thing when I look around at college students in the coffee shop.

“I opened a can of beets today and as the opener cut the lid I heard your voice telling me to ‘keep turning until the lids lifts up and you can grab it.’

“When I cleaned the refrigerator I thought about things that could be found in our refrigerator when I was a kid. Pickled herring. Mogan David. A metal container of fresh milk from the barn. Land-O-Lakes butter. Kool-Aid.

“Looks ARE only skin deep, just like you said.