Month: August 2019

            She loved butterflies. My dad and I don’t know why my mom loved butterflies so much, but her affinity for them is evident throughout my parents’ home. There’s a metal butterfly hanging outside of the carport. There’s a stained glass one sticking out of a plant in the living room. There are shirts with butterflies embroidered on them, along with a butterfly wallet in her drawer. And now there are butterflies on the bulletin for her memorial service. 

            Mom left us nine days ago, and in those nine days, the world has completely changed — or at least my corner of it. My mother once told me that she thought that she was invisible. Though I understood why a southern, soft-spoken, confrontation- averse woman would think that, I never thought that about my mom. Even when Alzheimer’s tried to erase her, she was anything but invisible. Now she is everywhere. 

            I see her on Union Street when I drive past the house where she bought my pageant dress secondhand. I see her when I pass the CVS that stands on the land where my piano teacher resided. I see her at the McDonald’s where we ate pancakes before cheerleading at Saturday morning football games. I see her at the library where I read my way to a free Carowinds ticket when I was nine years old. 

            At my parents’ house, I can smell her, and when I’m brave enough to look at her bed, I remember the last few days of her life and then the last minutes. I don’t like being that brave.

            I suppose there’s no perfect way to die, but mom’s last night went as smoothly as it could. I was sitting on the bed with her, and my husband and dad were also in the room. The hour or so before she stopped breathing, I spouted out a David Letterman-like Top 10 list of our best times together — Christmas Eve dinner at The Waffle House, going out late in New York City after we called dad to tell him we were in for the night (her idea), singing Moonlight Bay in the round during bath time, playing hide and seek behind bolts of fabric at The Remnant Shop. All of it. 

            And then I told her it was okay for her to go and that we would take care of each other. As stubborn as my mother was, this is a woman who told her Hospice nurse that she wasn’t ready for a walking cane yet, she took her last breath and took off to a new world. 

            One of the best and worst things about being from a small town is that everyone either knows everyone or is related to them. In this case, it was the best thing because the man from the funeral home was one of my mom’s best friends’ sons. When he got to the house, we reminisced about the trips my mom and his mom used to take together. Though they are now both gone, their stories live on, and I needed those stories so much that night. 

            I have no idea what heaven is. I know that my mom will live in my heart forever, and I also know that I’ve seen an awful lot of butterflies since she left. Dad saw a yellow monarch flying around the back door a few hours before she died, another one brushed my windshield as I drove back from the funeral home and another one greeted me after my run yesterday. 

            Two days after her service, my son’s teacher presented the class with a caterpillar that will soon evolve into a beautiful butterfly. (They named him Larry, which my mother would have thought was hilarious.) These colorful winged creatures are my mother’s way of letting us know that everything is going to be okay, even though right now it feels like it never will be.

            A friend told me earlier this summer that you don’t have to be with someone physically to feel their presence, and I believe that that’s true. I know my mother is watching over us, protecting us as best she can, and I know she would want us to get on with things. So with each new day we try. Some days we try harder than others, but every day we keep our eyes open for the fluttering flash of a yellow butterfly, a Wink of Goodness from my beautiful mother. 

NOTE: Weekly Winks will return next Friday. Even though this past week has been one of the hardest in my life, there were too many winks to count (butterflies, a rainbow, a covered dish dinner cooked by United Methodist Women and the list goes on). My dad said it best yesterday. “It doesn’t make sense that people are mean in this world when there is so much love.”    

            Every Friday, I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. (Yes, I know it’s Saturday, so please refrain from calling the blog police. It’s been a crazy week.) I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.      

Saturday— I enjoyed approximately 30 minutes of lounging on the lake in a tube, complete with a drink holder and headrest, that my husband found floating in the lake earlier this summer. (We average finding one lake toy a year on the water — floating Winks of Goodness.)

Sunday — I finally finished pressure washing our driveway. I began this project earlier this summer right when mom got sick. It was then that I discovered my passion for pressure washing any and all things. I think this might be my future.  

Monday— James Taylor’s Your Smiling Face came on the radio while I was driving The Tots to their first day of school. They asked me to turn it up so they could sing along. When I picked them up from school they were smiling from ear to ear because they had such a good day. I adore bookend days! 

Tuesday — Margot and I heard Rainbow Connection, one of my all time favorite songs because it is one of the best songs of all time, while we were sitting in a waiting room. 

Wednesday— I helped The Tots write thank you notes to their aunts and uncles, as well as a dear family friend. This is the kind of thing that was never accomplished when I was working at the magazine because there simply wasn’t time. 

Thursday— I read some of Bad Girls Throughout History by Ann Shen to Margot, yet another thing I didn’t get to do as much as I wanted to when I was working at the magazine. These courageous women inspired both of us. The cool thing is that the ones who were financially successful gave most of their money to charity. 

Friday— John and I cancelled our date night to go see my mother who is not doing well at all. On the way home we stopped at a restaurant in my hometown for dinner at the bar. One of our friends was playing in a jazz quartet there, so we ended up having date night after all, plus I got to eat North Carolina trout, one of my absolute favorite foods. 

This past June when my cousin, Liz, visited from California, she mentioned something a friend of hers had noticed about folks from the South. As Liz, who is originally from Northern Virginia, continued talking, I braced myself to hear, yet again, the hokey stereotypes that have plagued our region forever — we fry everything, we marry our cousins, we talk too slowly, we say fixin’, etc. To my pleasant surprise, she didn’t say any of those things. 

            Instead, her friend noticed that people from the South always talk about “the breeze.” At first I laughed off her friend’s observation, and then my husband and I started listening to our conversations. That’s when we discovered that we do indeed talk about the breeze every single day, sometimes more than once a day — each. It’s as natural as ordering hush puppies at a barbecue joint. 

            When I step on my stoop in the morning to see if the weather is good for a run, the breeze is often the deciding factor. When we contemplate eating on the patio, there needs to be a breeze, but not too much of one because no one wants their napkin to fly off the table. When we go out on the boat at night, we check to see if the breeze makes taking blankets a requirement. When we think about lighting our fire pit, we investigate which way the breeze is blowing. When we’re trying to decide if it’s too hot to mow the yard in the evening, we check for the breeze.

            And if you think about it, the breeze is the beach’s greatest asset. No matter how fancy your getaway digs are, we all enjoy the constant breeze as soon as we step out of our cars at the coast. It’s also the first thing we miss when we return home — that and hanging out in a wet bathing suit all day long and eating Calabash shrimp. 

            My guess is the South’s obsession with the breeze goes back to the days when we didn’t have air conditioning. People most likely stalked the breeze in search of some relief from our oppressive humidity. It doesn’t take a scientist to deduce that warm temperatures would make a slight wind a hot commodity, but I think the breeze plays a more important role in our lives because it’s a beautifully natural Wink of Goodness. It simply comes out of nowhere to make you feel better. 

            When I experience the breeze, whether it’s a cold or hot day, I think of it as Mother Nature exhaling and letting me know that it’s okay for me to exhale with her. It’s like when you’re a kid, and your mom puts your hair behind your ear when she’s saying something comforting. It just makes you feel better without explanation. 

            The other day I was sitting at the breakfast table with my parents at their house. It overlooks a meticulous lawn dotted with scattered trees. Though it was one of those dismally hot days that make even the best southerner yearn for pumpkin spice and hayrides, Dad saw the breeze and immediately got Mom’s attention. “Look, the breeze is blowing the leaves around,” he said. And just like that, the breeze worked its magic once again.   

            Every Friday, I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness.          

Saturday — My husband and I enjoyed a date lunch outside at a cozy café, while The Tots attended a bowling birthday party. It was so nice to have an actual conversation in date-like form, not to mention the yummy salmon sandwiches we devoured. 

Sunday— A beautiful bright red cardinal danced on the string lights hanging over our patio mid-morning. Our guess is that he was teasing our cats, but we enjoyed the dance nonetheless and named him Kenny. For newbies to North Carolina, the cardinal is our state bird, and if you see one, it’s good luck.

Monday — The Tots and I spent the day at Discovery Place Science in Charlotte, where we saw a live frog that truly looked like Kermit (same exact eyes). I almost asked him where his banjo was. 

Tuesday— After a difficult visit with my parents, two beautiful teenagers took my daughter out for an evening of girl time (dinner, shopping and frozen yogurt). When Margot came home, she told me that she had fun feeling normal, as normalcy has been scarce this summer. 

Wednesday— The Tots and I went to the water park at Carowinds. The laughter from my son, Graydon, as I came down the slide with the big dip at the end screaming my head off was priceless. We finally managed to snag a piece of summer. 

Thursday— When I asked Margot’s new teacher if my daughter could make a worry box, she brought out Margot’s worry box from last year. Her former teacher wanted to make sure Margot had it if she needed it. 

Friday— I grabbed a few quiet minutes early this morning to read a devotion that was spot on and finish Weekly Winks. Happy weekend!

             The best summer job I ever had was working on an assembly line at my father’s machine company. Though I don’t remember the exact year (I think it was the summer before seventh grade), I do remember working away while Z100 blared out Top 40 tunes all afternoon. Remember that “We don’t have to take our clothes off” song? I heard that over and over that summer.

            Before you start reciting child labor laws, know that I had a worker’s permit and that the work I was doing did not involve machinery. I was merely gluing rubber caps on printer motors. Yes, we had to use paint thinner to get the black glue off of our hands at the end of the day, but I had a ball — and I made a friend. 

            An older gentleman named Bill Dorton worked beside me. He had reddish blonde hair, was probably in his upper 50s or early 60s, and always rolled up his jeans. One day while we were talking, he asked if I’d ever eaten Lemon Gooey. When he discovered that I hadn’t, he proceeded to share the recipe with me. I scribbled the information down and delivered it to my mom when I got home. We made our first batch that night. 

            It was instant goodness, and it immediately knocked mom’s awesome chocolate pan cake out of the number one slot in our family’s dessert rankings. I’m happy to report that Lemon Gooey still holds the top position, though during my college years it was challenged by my mom’s key lime pie. (Apparently we are partial to citrus desserts.)

            There’s so much to love about Bill Dorton’s Lemon Gooey. First of all, every time I make it, I think of that summer. Second, it’s delicious, and there’s nothing healthy about it. Third, it’s easy to make, but it doesn’t look or taste easy to make (important qualities in any dessert). Fourth, you can bake it for any occasion. Not all desserts can swing that. Just try showing up at a Fourth of July picnic with a Yule Log cake. 

            While I enjoy baking, my daughter, Margot, is obsessed with it. We watch every baking show we can find, and sometimes I make videos of her when she’s whipping up a treat. After taking a bite of something, she often critiques the dish in traditional Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry style, complete with the accent. (Both are from The Great British Baking Show.) Baking is something fun we can do together, and it’s also a sneaky way to practice fractions. 

            The Tots and I made a batch of Lemon Gooey right before my mom went into the hospital this summer. We gave some of it to our friends who had just moved into a new house, and because it keeps so well, we gave some to the nurses at the hospital that cared so lovingly for my mother. You can buy all the gifts in the world, but taking the time to bake for someone is special because it makes them feel special. It says, “Hey, I think enough of you to subtract an hour of my Netflix binge-watching schedule to create something yummy for you.” Try to do that with a Whitman’s Sampler. 

            Since my mom has been home, people have brought over a ton of food for my folks. There’s the shell casserole from my cousin, the cold cuts and rotisserie chicken from church friends, and the peach cobbler from neighbors. These are all Winks of Goodness because each morsel means that someone cares that my parents are getting what they need during a difficult time. You can’t measure that on a nutrition label. 

            I’m not sure when I’ll bake another batch of Lemon Gooey. My friend, Meredith, won’t let me into her house unless I bring some with me, so I suppose the next time she has a dinner party, I’ll make some. But whatever the occasion, you can bet that when I pull out my hand mixer, I’ll think of that summer working alongside Bill Dorton and that evening when my mom dropped whatever she was doing to help me make my first batch of Lemon Gooey. Neither of us had any idea that we were creating a family legacy. We were just a mother and daughter doing something fun together. 

Bill Dorton’s Lemon Gooey

Ingredients

1 box of lemon cake mix (I prefer Duncan Hines Lemon Supreme.)

1 box of confectioners sugar

1 8-ounce package of Philadelphia Cream Cheese (Why would you even think of using low-fat?)

3 eggs

1 stick of butter, unsalted and melted

Instructions

Mix cake mix with 1 egg and butter with a hand mixer. Mixture will be stiff, pat in bottom of sheet pan. (I use a butter-sprayed glass dish.) Set aside. Mix softened cream cheese, confectioners sugar and 2 eggs. Beat 5 minutes with a hand mixer. Pour over the top of mixture in pan. Bake 30 to 35 minutes at 350 degrees. It’s best to let it sit overnight before serving. Somehow that seals in the gooey factor.  

NOTE: This recipe is also in the Recipes for a Cold Springs Pig-Nic cookbook published in 1987. Olivia Jones submitted it. We’re all connected in Cabarrus County. 

This is my new thing. Every Friday, I’m going to share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power, so welcome to the first edition of Weekly Winks.

I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site (still figuring some technical stuff out on that if you have trouble) or social media. So look around and write it down — share the goodness. 

Sunday — My sweet daughter, Margot, made a home spa for me, complete with a stone massage. She used the glass stones from one of my vases for my “Stress Relief” massage. Other types of massages available from the menu she wrote out included: Karate Kid, Punch, Soft and Relaxing. 

Monday — After visiting my mom, I stopped at Target on the way home. The cashier, who had to be in her early 60s, had a darling tattoo of Tweety Bird on her wrist — in color. How can you not smile when you see that little yellow canary?

Tuesday — As The Tots and I drove on the interstate, Robbie Dupree’s Steal Away came on the radio, and they immediately asked me to turn it up so they could sing along. They proceeded to belt out the lyrics perfectly. All those hours they’ve listened to Yacht Rock Radio with me are paying off. 

Wednesday — The Tots’ aunt and uncle gave them a book about shells (a casualty from their downsizing), so Graydon and Margot brought all of their shells downstairs at breakfast and began trading with each other. Turns out store-bought shells are not nearly as valuable in this game as ones that are found. 

Thursday — I was stuck in traffic on Catawba Avenue during an evening storm, and another mom in a mini-van needed in my lane. I motioned for her to pull in front of me, and she smiled back. Then when she pulled in front of me, she waved “thank you.” This is how it’s done, people. 

Friday — Jefferson, one of our two awesome tabby cats, decided to curl up on my tummy while I snoozed this morning. Perfect bliss.