Madge-World: Welcome to it.

One thousand and ninety five days. You finally stop dialing her phone number to see if she still hates George W. Bush. Or ask her if she’s going to enter the State Fair Art show again. Or see if she wants to meet at The Modern for dinner. Or how about another trip? Just the girls again. You hear that Paris is pretty nice in the fall.  Or tell her you’re sorry for all the stupid things you did way back when.

Mary Jane Farley. A great gal from a great family in south Minneapolis. Central High School class of 1936. U of M class of 2000. One of the greatest generation of Moms. They didn’t believe in mollycoddling. No, put your head down and get to work. And, no complaining.

Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine;

et lux perpétua lúceat ei.

Requiéscat in pace.

Amen.

De-cluttering the house reveals treasures! I happened upon two battered recipe boxes shoved in the back of an upper cupboard. Stuffed with index cards. Worn alphabetical dividers, some tabs softened beyond use. Hey, what happened to “E”? Cards randomly stuffed - front and back. The filing system makes no sense. So like our mother.

Our mother was not one to waste anything. The flip side of many cards catalogs someone’s record collection. Neatly typed. But, by who? One of my brothers? That Pumpkin Bread will go nicely with any of these musical selections.

Handwritten recipes. Yellowed newspaper clippings. Folded scraps of paper with scribbled ingredients and shorthand for instructions. Smudged and stained with spices, butter, bits of batter. I imagine her hands riffling through the boxes to find what she needs. Touching the card again and again as she hurriedly prepares the cake or cookies. {Because who has time to dally in the kitchen with a handful of kids swirling through the house.} Spilling the cinnamon or cloves on the counter. Picking up the card. Her fingers tapping the card clean.

Through time, I hold her hand in mind.

Mama. Let perpetual light shine upon her. Ninety one interesting years.

Mom and her brother, Bob. Did I mention that Uncle Bob could make stuff? Like boats and anything out of wood? Yeah, he made that boat that he and mom are sitting in. Guess some of his dad’s talent rubbed off {he taught mechanical arts aka “shop” at old South High School}.