(Written on May 12th)

Today is my Mother’s birthday. No matter how long she has been gone or how old I become, she is with me every day. She is with me because she put the time in for my brother and me. We were part of her life. Not scheduled in because she had a career she couldn’t give up.

She taught the little things, like “please and thank you.” “May I” instead of “I want” and all those social graces wrapped up in common courtesy. She was always home when we came from school and more than likely had some kind of cake or cookies……or an oven full of bread. One smell when we hit the porch told us what our treat was for the day.

Mom wasn’t good with her hair and didn’t wear make-up unless she was going someplace. She saved things in pretty boxes. Things my brother or I would make at school for holidays or Mother’s Day were in sight……not tucked away. She was full of good advice when questioned and very smart. I loved to hear her talk about when she was young and what her and her brothers and sisters did. The pictures of her with them looked like they were having fun.

Every Halloween we had candied apples. In those 1930 years they were always the red cinnamon apples. I don’t remember ever having caramel apples until much later. Christmas was the Gingerbread Man. He had three raisins down his front for buttons and a face put on with Mom’s ancient frosting tube. Of course there were other things but we loved the little man the best.

I have to laugh when I think of the old dilapidated stove she cooked and baked on. The old gas kind with four burners and the oven on one side. The trial of her life was making a wedding cake for her youngest sister. We lived 25 miles away from where the wedding was taking place and she had no way of keeping it cool en-route. The wedding was in summer and the Nebraska summers are pretty miserable……certainly not good to transport a three tiered cake. To make it more unstable it was made with white boiled icing.

I can still see my mother in the kitchen beating the egg whites and sugar with her old rotary egg beater…….batch after batch to cover the whole cake. She decorated it with little frosting flowers and garlands around the top and sides. All done in white it was beauty to behold. Mom didn’t ask for the job but in those days, weddings and occasions were something the families did to make it more memorable. My mother was the best baker in the family so the job was hers.

In retrospect, I see my Dad, dreading the day because the distance and weather were against success. He got involved when he saw Mom getting more nervous by the minute so Dad rigged up something for it to ride in, in the trunk. Dad was as fearful as Mom about getting it there and he didn’t want her to be humiliated by a cake being in pieces. Of course it all ended well and everyone was happy….and relieved.

I had the best Mother in the whole world. Times were tough in the 30’s and Mom made it her business to see that we had the right kinds of things in our lives that would last.

Happy birthday, Mom……and thanks.

Essentially Esther