Not-so-fleeting Aunt Mildred
Many, many years ago, I met a wonderful lady. She was my mother-in-law's best friend, so when my husband's mother died suddenly in an automobile accident, Aunt Mildred adopted us. You see, Eldest Son had been born only six months earlier and she couldn't stand to think of her friend missing out on all the growing-up that was to be done.
Out of a heavy loss came a life-long friendship of an odd sort. I grew up in a city and Aunt Mildred grew up on a farm and lived most of her life in the country. While Old Man loved to eat her biscuits, I preferred to watch in fascination as she worked her magic. She made the best biscuits I ever tasted. She kept a two foot tall tin of all-purpose flour under her kitchen sink. When she wanted biscuits, she would pull the tin out, add some shortening and milk, knead a few minutes, working the dough with just the tips of her fingers. She measured nothing. I asked her one day if she would teach me to make biscuits. She told me she couldn't do that because she "just grew up knowing how" and she didn't think she could teach someone to do it. So I had to satisfy myself with experimenting in my own kitchen. When Old Man got tired of eating bricks, he just made a visit to Aunt Mildred for some of her light, fluffy, buttery biscuits.
She never tired of trying to get me in a dress, either. I learned not to complain about the heat around her because her stock answer was to say that if I wore a dress, I would have more ventilation. She did everything in a dress. Aunt Mildred, propped on her riding lawn mower with her skirts tucked under her, was a common sight when passing by her house. She got the job done and was very lady-like in doing it.
I sometimes felt like a lost cause around her. One spring, I had the bright idea of planting a garden. After all, I lived in the country, all my neighbors had gardens, it couldn't be that hard, could it? Aunt Mildred was an enthusiastic teacher. I think she thought this would get me into a dress, blue jeans being too hot to wear. She was wrong. In my world, dresses were for getting dressed up for a night out on the town or going to church, but certainly not for bending over a garden row, planting seeds.
After a couple of weeks after the planting lesson, she came over to see how things were going.
"Fine," I tell her.
"Have you tended the weeds?" she asks.
"The weeds?" I reply dumbly.
"Yes, the weeds. You have to be out there every day pulling weeds, or they'll take over."
"Oh. Um, no. But I was out there last week and everything looked just fine." I didn't sound very confident. Aunt Mildred looked at me as though she wasn't sure which planet I dropped in from. We walked out to the garden to find the stalks of corn only about 2 feet tall, those that we could find among the weeds, that is. She never tried to teach me about gardening again.
I have learned so much more from Aunt Mildred, that it is very hard to say goodbye. We celebrated her ninetieth birthday with her at the beginning of this month and she celebrated the Lord's birthday with Him in heaven.
For those of you Dear Readers who remember my blog about her and the man across the road who had the turnip greens, she finally met him and he supplied her with all the greens she could eat.
© 2011 Carol Phares
Out of a heavy loss came a life-long friendship of an odd sort. I grew up in a city and Aunt Mildred grew up on a farm and lived most of her life in the country. While Old Man loved to eat her biscuits, I preferred to watch in fascination as she worked her magic. She made the best biscuits I ever tasted. She kept a two foot tall tin of all-purpose flour under her kitchen sink. When she wanted biscuits, she would pull the tin out, add some shortening and milk, knead a few minutes, working the dough with just the tips of her fingers. She measured nothing. I asked her one day if she would teach me to make biscuits. She told me she couldn't do that because she "just grew up knowing how" and she didn't think she could teach someone to do it. So I had to satisfy myself with experimenting in my own kitchen. When Old Man got tired of eating bricks, he just made a visit to Aunt Mildred for some of her light, fluffy, buttery biscuits.
She never tired of trying to get me in a dress, either. I learned not to complain about the heat around her because her stock answer was to say that if I wore a dress, I would have more ventilation. She did everything in a dress. Aunt Mildred, propped on her riding lawn mower with her skirts tucked under her, was a common sight when passing by her house. She got the job done and was very lady-like in doing it.
I sometimes felt like a lost cause around her. One spring, I had the bright idea of planting a garden. After all, I lived in the country, all my neighbors had gardens, it couldn't be that hard, could it? Aunt Mildred was an enthusiastic teacher. I think she thought this would get me into a dress, blue jeans being too hot to wear. She was wrong. In my world, dresses were for getting dressed up for a night out on the town or going to church, but certainly not for bending over a garden row, planting seeds.
After a couple of weeks after the planting lesson, she came over to see how things were going.
"Fine," I tell her.
"Have you tended the weeds?" she asks.
"The weeds?" I reply dumbly.
"Yes, the weeds. You have to be out there every day pulling weeds, or they'll take over."
"Oh. Um, no. But I was out there last week and everything looked just fine." I didn't sound very confident. Aunt Mildred looked at me as though she wasn't sure which planet I dropped in from. We walked out to the garden to find the stalks of corn only about 2 feet tall, those that we could find among the weeds, that is. She never tried to teach me about gardening again.
I have learned so much more from Aunt Mildred, that it is very hard to say goodbye. We celebrated her ninetieth birthday with her at the beginning of this month and she celebrated the Lord's birthday with Him in heaven.
For those of you Dear Readers who remember my blog about her and the man across the road who had the turnip greens, she finally met him and he supplied her with all the greens she could eat.
© 2011 Carol Phares
I miss her. I should write about me teaching her chess. Yeah it was as funny as ot sounds.
ReplyDelete