My
father always taught me to make lemonade out of lemons. But when I tore my right Achilles tendon
juggling a soccer ball at the Long Beach, California airport and ended up
homebound and on crutches for the summer, I had to really reach to find the
sugar for the lemons.
Enter
my mom. She arrived like a Jewish Mary
Poppins, not floating in on an umbrella, but laden down with her own bottomless
bag full of goodies. She took a measure of my adoring kids and found them both
to be “practically perfect in every way.”
But, with my surgery scheduled for the following afternoon, this time, her
magic was meant for me.
A
recent widow at 79, my two siblings and I have been worrying about how to best
take care of her. But now, here she was,
a pint-sized Florence Nightingale, ready to tend to my every need. With my kids readying for sleep-away camp and
my husband traveling for work, her special brand of TLC – mixed with smarts, wit
and empathy – arrived just in the nick of time.
So
what was in the bottomless bag? Need you
ask a Jewish mother? Food of
course! And, a new recipe book, “Cook
This, Not That!” with post-its noting a few tasty dinner options and stuffed with
newspaper clippings of other healthy recipes.
Although
post-surgery my appetite was nil, she brought me up trays with easy-to-digest
peanut butter on Ritz crackers, elegantly placing a few grapes on the side, and
a big bottle of water to calm my camel-like thirst. When I was feeling better and able to do the
one-legged hop down the stairs, we spent many fun hours cooking meals together,
our favorites including ravioli with yellow zucchini and basil and rosemary
chicken with lemon.
As
the chief chef, my mom took on the challenge of getting to know the whereabouts
of all ingredients, utensils, pots and pans in my fairly large kitchen. She was always game to try something new,
whether it was the food processer, lemon juicer or Ninja blender. One night, a towel set atop a pot of rice to
keep it moist burst into flames. On this
night she learned the invaluable lesson of cooking on a gas stove as opposed to
her own electric.
Perhaps
my favorite moment was a night we spent jigsaw puzzling while listening to Broadway
tunes. Could there be anything more
peaceful then sitting with your mommy and working on a Van Gogh puzzle while singing
along to Camelot, Carousel, Fiddler, The King and I, etc.?
Many
afternoons, we spent together outside on the back porch, smelling the pine and listening
to the crickets chirp while reading or napping.
Getting “Hop-a-long” (my new nickname) set up outside wasn’t easy
though. Along with schlepping out the
chair cushions, my book, laptop and/or water, she had to play a game of musical
doors with our cat, Dakota. Dakota is an indoor cat that yearns for the
outdoors. But, with neither of us able to chase and carry him, we had to make
sure he stayed an indoor cat. There are
two doorways that lead out to the back porch and watching my mom try to trick Dakota
by going from one door to the next – faking him out as he meowed his head off, was
highly entertaining.
The
highlight of my days has been finding a letter in the mailbox from one or both of
our campers. I love sharing the kids’
heart-warming letters, reading them aloud until I get too fahklempt to
continue. While early on, we did get the quintessential dreaded letter from
Jakey, which started, “I’m sick,” and had a sad face with a tear on the
envelope, the rest of his letters were happy and adorable, filled with the
adjective, “great!” to describe his cabin mates, activities and the food. Amanda’s
frequent letters all start in happy CAPS with some iteration of “I LOVE CAMP!”
and are chock-full of all of her favorite activities, and proud and silly moments,
and a daily log of her meals. She truly
fits her moniker, “Kid Foodie!”
My
mom has been with me to every doctor appointment, taking notes and making sure
I follow the orthopedist’s orders. She
has made sure I take my medicine, wrapped my leg with ice and cajoled me to
call the nurse when my toes turned purple. One night, I got a splinter in my
finger from pushing off of a wicker chair.
Even though her vision is pretty terrible, she miraculously got the
painful splinter out, and frankly, saved the day.
For
our nighttime entertainment, Mel Brooks seemed to be watching over us. In the
last three weeks, we found four televised Mel specials that kept us
laughing. Excerpts from his routine with
Carl Reiner, The 2000 Year Old Man http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnLqLHWDg5E,
are
particularly hysterical, along with clips from his greatest movies – my mom’s
favorite being “Blazing Saddles.” But
mostly it was Mel Brooks’ way of telling a story that left us in hysterics –
particularly about growing up Jewish in Brooklyn and performing in the Borcht
Belt’s most famous resorts as at Tummler (master entertainer). In one routine he talks about Jews and
cholesterol. Just thinking about it
makes me laugh. Honestly, he is so relatable, I feel like he could be our
relative.
In
a few days, my kids come home from camp, and I can’t wait to see them, to
smother them in hugs and kisses. But, for now it is “just mom and me.” Yes, my fun-loving husband and I have spent
these precious weekends together and my lovely friends have taken me out for
dinner and drinks, but it strikes me that I probably haven’t spent this much
time with my mom since I was a kid.
In
truth, although this Achilles injury has been agonizing, frequently bringing on
tears from pain and frustration – and I still have a long road ahead, I already
see the silver lining and have learned a new recipe for living. It's called "Patience." It just requires a few key ingredients including sleep, good food, and a sense-of-humor, and if you’re lucky, a big heaping
spoonful of your mother’s powerful love.
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