My Dad’s Pay Day in the Buncher house, growing up in the ’50s was always, marked by a trip to the Giant Eagle. My MOTHER had the responsibility for banking his check and taking out the weekly food budget in cash and spending about two hours grocery shopping. We knew the Deli Manager by the first name, and he would provide my sister and me with a slice or two of Hebrew National bologna. We knew the Produce Man by the first name receiving a fresh slice of whatever seasonal fruit was for sale. And we only went to Loraine’s register to check out, because she and my mother had a lot of gossip to catch up on from the previous week. My mother was a child of the Depression, and for her, buying in bulk, knowing that eventually, a rainy day could flood our house, she would be prepared. Plus my mother was the Official neighborhood Birthday Cake Baker, The “Oh Rena your cupcakes and cookies are so delicious,” family special occasion Baker, the annual school trip to Kennywood Park cook, for the homemade Fried Chicken, Cole Slaw, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Potato Salad and Chocolate Cake picnic lunch prepared for about24 of our neighbors! We were a family of 6, always had at least 4 extra friends over for dinner, and HONESTLY, my mother would cook at least 7 different main courses, making certain everyone ate and ate what they liked. My mother never used recipes, swore they made her feel too claustrophobic for her to work in her kitchen. But always had a pinch, a sense, a smell, a touch for what was needed; and she never failed in delivering a cooked, baked, or roasted product, with more than enough so the leftovers could be taken home in Tupperware. My mother was a sum of a whole lot of gracious, grand, giving, love heart, and soul. But she will be remembered by anyone who was lucky enough to have known her Saint Let’s Eat Lots and Delicious. My mother, Rena, would say, “For me, cooking and baking are like giving a hug and kiss to those you care for.” The only hard part is when I see they haven’t asked for seconds.”
I have so many memories regarding my mother, like so many who have or had been blessed by UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, that choosing one or two is difficult, BUT then they are like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle; as I know, the fun is to fit them all together to get a better picture of my MOTHER. We are human, and we are provided the ability to love. As humans, the frail part of being is to lose that love. BUT, aha, because we ARE human we can remember, and oh how magnificent those memories remain! Happy Mother’s Day!
