Mother

My mother was a victim of women’s magazines. Pages filled with pristine kitchens and elegant dining rooms demeaned our small farmhouse and made Mother discontent. She had visions of entertaining. Instead, we “had company” – and not often if memory serves me correctly.

What I do remember with certainty is Mother’s anxiety when guests were expected for a meal. A bit of a social butterfly, my mother loved to be around people, unless they were coming to our house to eat. The anxiety she felt at those times was palpable and a total mystery to me. Nothing bad ever happened when people came to visit, so what was the problem?

The problem was those magazines with their glossy pictures challenging housewives to achieve glossy perfection. Mama’s behavior – the sighing, her list of flaws about our house, the apologies for non-existent mistakes – became embedded in my brain, and I carried them into womanhood.

I am not much like my mother. She was extroverted and sociable. I am more shy and reserved, so you would think having company for meals would send me over the edge. It did at first, but the more I “entertained”, the sillier my behavior seemed. Unlike Mother, I learned to organize tasks and make lists. Over the years, the process of preparing for gatherings of family and friends has become second nature and brings me great joy.

It makes me sad that Mother could never recognize and enjoy her talents the way others did. She had a wonderful sense of play and adventure and was a great cook – a perfect combination for any hostess. But, those magazines told her it was all about appearances, and unfortunately, she believed them.