Mom and Housekeeping

Well, I think the spoiled girl will divulge the secrets of my housekeeping skills, or lack thereof. Mom was a small town girl. Her Father was a Barber who retired to become the janiter at the local school. Then she married a herdsman farmer. She taught herself to garden and preserve. She learned to make butter from our own cream. All the things I grew up watching and helping her do, she taught herself. Mom was an only child when families were big. But, that is another story. What I'm getting at, is that she didn't teach me very much. It was Moms opinion that if a thing needed to be done, it would either come naturally, or if not, probably couldn't be taught anyway. My Mother was an original and she had some wonderful ideas. She believed that if an adult couldn't control their anger and yelled at a child, they had no right to expect the child to control anger and not yell back. Yelling was ok, but slapping (especially a face) was a capitol crime. Hitting was bad enough, but slapping was a slum action. Spanking was ok, but not in anger. If a child knew they were doing wrong, then they should expect punishment and should get it. Two or three swats was a spanking, more than that was beyond punishment. My friends came to my Mother to talk about things they couldn't say to their own Moms. Several times I got home to find a friend there, but they didn't come to see me. I remember the first time one of my friends heard Mom and I yelling at each other. Our anger disolved in laughter when Mom saw the expression on my friends face. When Mom told the friend why I was allowed to yell back, that expression was less afraid and more confused. I was told so many times how lucky I was to have my Mother. I had to agree, she was the boss, no doubt about it. But, I was always allowed to defend myself, and if I made a good case, she would compromise with me. I have even heard her say she was wrong. I was grounded one time when a class dance was coming up. I knew I deserved it and didn't even try to argue. But, I was on the entertainment committee. I had to take a record player and my 45's to school and then leave. Which I did. Much later, Mom told me she had forgotten the dance when she dished out the punishment and she felt bad about it. She said if I'd asked she would have backed down and let me go to the dance. It didn't even occur to me. She was always fair and as far as I was concerned, that was that.

Back to housework. She never taught me to cook or clean. She did teach me how to iron a shirt so I wouldn't re-wrinkle a part already ironed. For some reason that was important. She did try to teach me to sew. And, I proved her theory that it would either come naturally or I'd never learn. I still can't sew. Maybe that was when I first heard her theory. What I learned from her I learned just by watching her do it. The rest I learned by doing.

The doing started early because Mom lived so far from her parents. I was pretty young, maybe 11 or 12, when Mom went to Van Wert to take care of a sick parent. I'm not sure which one or why, I just remember she was gone and I was in charge of the house. It must have been hay baling time because there was help on the farm and I was expected to feed them dinner. Dad didn't think it was funny at the time, later I was teased a lot about this. Dad said it was almost dinner time (which on the farm meant noon) and he was getting hungry when he looked up to see me walking across another field wiht my berry picking pail. Wheich meant they weren't going to eat any time soon. Lesson number 1.....working men's tummys have their own clock. I needed to be reminded how long it took to fix a meal. And if I wanted to surprise everyone with berry pie, it should be done early. The next day I convinced my friend C to help me out. We didn't tell her Mother why she was visiting me. Or that we were alone. We had never gotten a whole meal for a crowd all by ourselves. But I needed to redeem myself for the previous days thrown together sandwiches that they got themselves while I picked berries. C and I managed pretty well. Except for the potatos. We planned to broil some steaks that were plentyful in the freezer. And the best thing with that was fried potatos. Besides we were afraid to make gravy, (which can't be made with broiled meat anyway) so that left out mashed potatos. I peeled an enormous bunch of potatos and C sliced them. While I worked on other things, C started the potatos in a big cast iron skillet. When it was time to serve, I asked C where the rest of the potatos were. I did know that fried potatos cooked down, but we didn't seem to have any left. There weren't enough potatos, but there was plenty of other food and the men were satisfied. When C and I cleaned up, I found potaots down in all four burners. On the floor beside the stove. We even found potatos in the drawer below the oven when we put the pans away. C and I thought that was funny. We did decide they got there when I got out another pan while she was cooking them. We thought we had them all cleaned up, but Mom found bits and pieces of fried potato when she got back home. She liked my friend C, and fried potatos hidden all over her kitchen struck her funny. We had to tell her everything we'd done.

She wasn't happy with me when she first got back home though. When she walked into the house, she said she stuck to the floor. (It wasn't that bad!) She was annoyed at me for not mopping. But, after hearing of our cooking "lessons" she did see the humor in it. And she did teach me to make gravy. Still, she made me mop the floor, several times, before she was satisfied. (F.Y.I., my friend C became a professional cook. A great one.)

I did learn to cook and I love to do it, so I can't be too bad. I make a great gravy too. Now that we aren't suppose to eat gravy. But I won't promise that you won't stick to my kitchen floor. I hate to clean, even though I prefer the way things look when they are clean. And it is easier now with the products available. Sometimes I just don't notice as soon as I could. If I can't see it, it must be ok. I don't like clutter though. Things should have a place and should be there. This is a problem. There aren't enough places for the things. In all these years of accumulating things, I don't know what to do with them. They each and every one have a purpose or a story and they can't be discarded. So the problem of keeping my things clean keeps getting to be a bigger problem. I love to cook, but shouldn't because of calories and middle age spread. All the wonderful old fashioned fried foods farmers loved and that I make so well are now a "No No". I hate to clean, but have acquired so many things that need to be cleaned. This is irony. But, on the plus side, my vision has gotten bad enough to help hide some of that dirty clutter, and so, things look ok to me. And, as long as I don't stick to the floor, it must be OK.