On cleaning refrigerators and hand washing dishes

 

My mom is on my mind today. I am becoming her all over again. In many ways, that would be a good thing. I’d like to have her graciousness in almost all situations, her light laughter, her intellectual curiosity, her devotion to what she thought was right. And, yes, I’d like to cook like she did. But those are not the traits I’ve apparently inherited. I got her frugality.

Mom lived through the Depression as a young wife, then a too-young war widow, and again a bride. She carried the lessons of those years with her throughout the rest of her long life. Of course we saved aluminum foil for the war effort; she used paper towels twice—once on counter or stove-top and then it went in a special cubbyhole to be re-used for a spill on the floor. We never threw anything out, and boy did I know about the clean-plate club. Mom canned her own vegetables, from the struggling produce Dad coaxed to life in a tiny Chicago back yard, and she hung her laundry on the line to dry, which meant she had really muscular shoulders and arms. When we cleaned out her refrigerator for the last time, my brother said, “She has all these petri dishes in the back.” There were jars of who-knows-what—leftovers, jam, and so on.

Mom never thought I learned those lessons of frugality quite well enough. When I was married and running a household of six, she lived down the street and dined with us most nights. She’d ask what to do with leftovers and then, before I could answer, she’d say, “I know! Just pitch it!” (I do the same to Jordan today because I think she’s too quick to throw things away.)

Today I cleaned out my refrigerator—eliminated thirteen jars of various sizes that held a dab of this and a bit of that—jam, sauerkraut with mold, chutney, things I couldn’t identify. And I don’t have a dishwasher, so I hand-washed most of those jars. I declared three beyond recovery. Still I was at the sink for a long time, and I thought of Mom again.

For much of my childhood she cooked—and let me experiment—in a kitchen probably almost as old as our 1893 house. I can still see that old Roper gas stove and the scarred porcelain sink that stood in one corner. There wasn’t much money. Dad was a doctor, but was mostly in administration, not practice, and he supported his mother and sister in Canada as well as our family. But in the Fifties, money came from somewhere and Mom got her dream kitchen—the whitewashed knotty pine she loved, turquoise Formica counters, and a round picnic table with benches that curved around it. And a dishwasher! We thought that was the ultimate luxury.

Thich Nhat Hanh, the revered Buddhist monk who just died, preached that staying in the moment should be a goal. He apparently once said, “When washing dishes, wash dishes.” It made me think of Mom and how many dishes she must have washed in that old kitchen. I thought of it again today as I was washing those jars. My writing sisters in an online group heartily embraced that philosophy this morning in our daily discussion, but I rebel. Washing dishes is one of those things you can do with your mind turned off the process. So I often plot and plan while my hands are in soapy water.

I admit I was a bit proud of myself this morning. Those jars had been staring balefully at me for a long time. Tomorrow, I’m tackling my pajama drawer because the other day, when sub-freezing temperatures were about to hit, I looked for a special pair of flannel pajamas and could only find the bottoms. I bet there are a lot of things in that deep drawer that I never wear. When you’re mostly quarantining, it’s a good time to clean out. Oops, do I sound smug?

Thoughts from a prude

I never thought of myself as a prude. I think my four kids will tell you I was fairly forgiving and understanding when they were teenagers, though I did draw the line at fart jokes and other bathroom humor. But now, frankly, I’m appalled at the tone of our presidential primaries.

Let me hasten to admit that I’m a liberal, and I find the objectionable material on the right. But we have presidential candidates talking about who can pee where, how women can avoid rape (don’t go to parties—yeah, that will fly with the younger crowd), masturbation and small hands, and dildos. These are men who want to run what was once the most powerful country in the world and is closing to regaining that status? Can you imagine FDR, Truman, Eisenhower, even Nixon or JFK bring up such subjects on the campaign trail? Certainly not either of the Bushes (their wives would cream them) or Barack Obama. No, we’ve hit a new low.

I know it’s important to Ted Cruz to improve the morality of America (according to his standards) but, frankly, I find it a deterioration of our standards of common decency. What happens in the bedroom—or shower stall or wherever—is between two people, or maybe one, or maybe three or more. But it’s not the government’s business.

Are there not more significant problems for presidential candidates to consider? Like the ever-exploding Middle East, the climate and weather problems, immigration, social inequity, medical care? Why are we hearing about people’s personal sexual habits, especially from people whose own habits are not above scrutiny if gossip be gospel?

Today I read that Ted Cruz promised to step back the “war on coal” if president. Does he not realize that coal manufacture pollutes the atmosphere almost more than any other industry? Oh, that’s right. He doesn’t believe in climate change, but he does believe selling sex toys is harmful to the morality of Texans—and by extension, most Americans.

Both Hillary and Bernie have addressed the problems of the LGBT community but not in a prurient, judgmental way. Other than that, they have stayed out of the bedroom, and that’s one more reason I’d vote for either of them.

Come on, folks, let’s not lose the standards of decency and reduce our country to this level of baseness. We are better than that.

I cannot help but think of my mother. If she heard this discussion, her chin would go up, her eyes would go out the window, and there would be no such talk. A true lady. We could all learn from her.