Lessons My Mother Taught Me by Catherine Jarvis

May 8, 2011

To mark this Mother's Day, I have decided to follow my mother's own example and write in 10 paragraphs or less, Lessons My Mother Taught Me. 

My mother taught me that you can never make too many treats.  There was always a Tupperware container on our counter filled with either cookies, cinnamon buns, butter horns or a loaf of fresh bread.  Although I think I only realized that homemade bread was a treat when I became an adult.  Somehow as a child, "store-bought" bread seemed decadent as it was the kind of bread you could easily peel the crust from and was endlessly soft so could be squished into a small compact ball.  Doesn't sound very appealing anymore.  There was also the cardboard trays of chocolates stored in the cool garage on homemade wooden racks.  I think the garage door should have fallen off it's hinges for the number of times the door was opened each day by children sneaking a few chocolates on their way to school, or running outside to get a bowl of ice cream for an evening snack.  If that wasn't enough in terms of treats for a lifetime, there was always the enormous silver bowl filled to overflowing with hot buttery popcorn that magically appeared on the table about 8 p.m. every evening. 

My mother taught me to use my best dishes everyday.  Don't save them for company and for heaven's sake, let the children use them.  Who are our best dishes for, if they aren't for us?  She knew that every meal was important.  Those momentary gatherings around meals were the cross-roads of life.  The endless coming and going of kids stopped for a moment when all gathered around the enormous arbourite covered table to feast.  Homemade pizza, spaghetti, soups, and the occasion dreaded parsnips or squash.  Lunch time meals of cinnamon buns eaten only using forks, while the sugary syrup stuck to the wooden cutting board that became a platter.  As we slid onto the old church pew converted into a corner bench, the world stopped for a moment and we were a family.  Although there weren't many fancy dishes in her cupboard when I was a child, the walk in pantry is now full to overflowing with holiday dishes, festive platters, colorful matching sets and crystal goblets.  Even now she still brings out the crystal goblets for lunch and lets event the youngest grandchild use the stem-wear. 

My mother taught me that learning should be fun, although I didn't realize she was teaching me this until I had children of my own.  One Saturday, she cajoled 5 teenagers into the car and took us downtown for a "art tour".  The "city's museum of corporate art", as outlined in the paper.  A free walking tour of important works of art hanging for all to see in the corporate towers of downtown Calgary.  An educational adventure.  An outing.  A chance to walk around the downtown with her kids and to explore.  Why she didn't pack it in after the first hour of complaining, I will never know. I can not remember a single piece of artwork we saw that day, but I do remember a "Mother-Theresa-patient" woman trying to teach her children the value of art.  I do remember a woman trying to educate and open the eyes of her children to the fascinating world around them.  I do remember a mother trying to make an adventure.  I still repentantly remember, the carefully chosen reward at the end of the tour.  Beautiful glazed donuts graciously given by a mother to undeserving teenagers who sheepishly and undeserving received them after a morning of ceaseless complaining. 

My mother taught me that there is always room at the table for another person.  No friend or visitor was ever turned away.  There was always room to squeeze just one more person onto the church pew bench, or another chair to be found in the sewing room.  No one ever left the house hungry.

My mother taught me that love is spelled TIME.  I can't count the number of hours my mother spent watching junior high and high school basketball games, volleyball matches, track events, or attending Kiwanis festivals and recitals.  In fact I think she put in at least a 40 hour week attending the various events of her 8 children.  I can quickly easily the number of things my mother missed.  ZERO.  I still don't know how she found the time. Often she was the only parent at these events.  I would listen for her voice cheering me on from the bleachers.  Some of my favourite times were the quiet moments after these events when she would take me for a slurpee, or stop by Sears to buy some candy from the candy counter.  The candy counter was a visual delight.  Each see-through container filled with a different and unusual treat.  Goodies, chocolates, pasties, smarties, liquorice allsorts, hard white mints, gum drops, etc.   I can still remember after one Kiwanis Festival Event her suggestion to try "chicken bones", a long thin pink candy filled with a chocolaty centre, and her buying me a small bag of the same to celebrate my win.

My mother taught me to record the small moments.  I remember her sitting at the old type writer punching the keys down hard to make the metal letters fly up and hit the ribbon.  I loved the sound it would make as her fingers would fly across the keys.  clip clap clunk clunk space clip clap clunk clunk clunk space clip DING and her hand would fly up to send the rod back to the beginning of the row ZZZZING!  Row after row of information about the events, activities, misdeeds, embarrassing and tender moments of her 8 precious children.   The carbon copy papers would be pulled from the roller and sent to the church for duplication.  Then pages would be collated, folded neatly and inserted inside envelopes to be sent to far flung relatives and friends.  These mundane events turned into stories to be told and retold.  A complete history of family life trapped on pages and captured so as not to be forgotten.   I watch as she continues to capture the life of her family, especially her grandchildren now on the electronic pages that have taken over cyberspace.  No more papers to fold or stamps to buy, but rich stories of adventure to be shared across the distances.  Although I can't say I have inherited this same prolific gift for capturing daily events, I am endlessly indebted to my mother for her efforts to record and remember these powerful small moments of life. 

These are some of the many lessons my mother taught me.  

May my life continue to be filled with such lessons.

Catherine