I imagine from reading this blog it seems like I’m obsessed with the loss and the memory of my mom. I’m really not. I think I’ve managed quite well for the last 20 years considering. But as I’m getting older – closer to the age she was when she died – I am starting to wonder about some things. Anytime I have a new realization about her, I feel a little bit more like I’m figuring myself out. I had one last night.

So there I was, flipping through old cookbooks on the shelf. There was one of those compilation-for-a- fund-raiser cookbooks put together by the Daviess County Extension Homemakers in 1976. (I would have been 6 in case you’re wondering) As I paged through it I recognized lots of the names as women from my old neck of the woods. They were women my mom knew well and talked of often. I was surprised that my mom was never in the Homemaker’s Club – and then it hit me. I don’t think I should be surprised at all. I think it explains a lot…

My mom was the most awesome cook. I realize most people think their mom was a good cook, but mine really was, and everyone in the community knew it. She got asked to cook for things all the time and hers were always the first dishes to be empty at any potluck. I still remember the big gaudy trophy that sat in a place of honor on top of our refrigerator. She won it in high school for her domestic genius. Not only could she cook, but she could sew and garden and all the other things you would expect from an extension homemaker. But she wasn’t one. Realizing this last night made me feel a lot better about my own hesitation to “join”. It also made me feel a little better about my reluctance to associate with anything labeled “girly”. I don’t think I’m weird. I think I’m like my mom. She was feminine in the strongest sense of the word. She took pride in her appearance. She liked dresses and heels. (she didn’t wear make up or jewelry, but that’s a whole other post…) She did all the woman things like the ones I mentioned before, but she wasn’t afraid to get dirty either. She could work circles around most men. When I say she gardened, I mean it. She did it all. She also slopped pigs, cleaned cow manure out of the barn, bottle fed calves, killed snakes with the hoe, and various other un-girly things. She was the only girl in her family growing up with three brothers. It’s amazing that she had any feminine side at all really. When it came to socializing, she could really take it or leave it. I remember her fretting about upcoming Tupperware parties or women’s banquets at church. They made her very uncomfortable. She wasn’t one for small talk, but she was as friendly as could be and had few if any enemies.

And then there’s me. Much like Mom, I like to look nice. I obsess over my hair and clothes like most other women. But I’m also just as comfortable in no makeup, ponytail & grubby jeans in my backyard. I kill bugs with my bare hand, I get dirt under my fingernails and I’ve even been known to spit when no one’s looking. I too am not a big fan of small talk. I’m terrible at it and going to a gathering where I know I’ll be meeting new people and be expected to talk to them freaks me out. The older I get the more I’m seeing a non-conformist side to me. I’m not sure where it’s coming from or why it’s there, but I think that remembering this latest detail about my mom could probably shed some light on it. I totally believe that we’re all unique creations of God and that we’re shaped by our environments. As I begin to get a grasp on that, I think I’m starting to feel a little less guilty about being the odd one out.

As I kept thinking about this last night I started to think about all the deep friendships I have today. I don’t have LOTS of friends, but I have great friends. I can be me and feel secure about it with them and they in turn are comfortable talking about anything with me. Nothing is off limits in our conversations and even when our views are different, we still enjoy the banter. I am profoundly grateful for the relationships that I have and I am convinced that God orchestrated each and every one of them for a reason. I’m not sure my mom had friends like that. Perhaps she did and I missed it, but I don’t think so. That makes me hurt for her. I wonder if in her reluctance to socialize on the surface that she also gave up on the possibility of finding anything deeper. I also wonder if that’s why she encouraged me to get involved in things when I was younger. It’s sort of ironic that now that I’m grown, I too shy away from the surface stuff. But somehow she managed to teach me to look for the more significant opportunities, and because of that I’m not alone in her absence. I’m surrounded by exactly the people I need.