Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Mementoes of Mom
Funny word. I had to look it up to make sure of the spelling. This week I decided to make my dad an apple and blackberry pie, as the garden is full of these fruits and my mom used to make it a lot. With custard, dad just loves it. It will make a change from the frozen dinners he has every day, in order to fit in with my brother's household. They are very good, by the way, much better than Meals on Wheels, especially when your wife has been an exceptionally good cook as my mom was. But there's nothing like home-baked. I am staying in my brother's house (next door to my dad) and my sister-in-law has been making great crumbles every day as the plums have been in season too. She doesn't do pastry, however, and when it came to rolling it out, I had to go over to dad's house to get my mother's rolling pin and pastry brush - and also the dish that she always used to bake the pie in. It's always an emotional thing to open up her kitchen drawers and find everything just the way she left it. There is even a carving knife that I remember my dad sharpening every Sunday for our roast. It's very narrow now. But still there. Fifty years later. I haven't been into her bedroom: I know her dressing table still displays the Mother's Day cards, given the week that she died - and her bottles of Chanel No.5, still in their wrapping. My sister-in-law has asked if she may now dispose of my mother's clothes. It's two and half years now, so I said yes, grateful that I am not asked to do this myself. When I go back home to Cape Town, I want to take the pastry brush and the rolling pin. Such small things but they mean so much.