LET'S GET STARTED...

As I start this blog I am tempted to start listing all of my domestic talents, of which there are very little. However, it has occurred to me, as I prepare this entry that I can’t begin to explain the purpose of this blog without first describing to you the women who shaped me into the champion of domestic mediocrity that I am today.

My grandmother, Laura, for whom I am named, was a reluctant domestic goddess. I never once saw her home in even the slightest disarray, but you just knew that she was not naturally inclined to cook and clean.

She was taken in by her grandparents as a baby when her mother died four days after her birth. There she had 3 aunts who still lived at home and was coddled and spoiled. When she was married I imagine that it was quite a shock to have to start cooking and cleaning every day.

Luckily, she was reprieved for a short time. My grandfather was in the Navy and stationed out in San Diego. It was 1944 and he lived on ship most of the time since it was the height of war. Mema, the name my older brother gave to her and by which I will now refer to her, was a riveter. That’s right, like Rosie.

Over the next few years their life was not one typical to their generation. It took 10 years of marriage before they settled down and really made a home together. My uncle was born in 1945 and followed by my mother in 1947. After a little time in California they moved to Wichita, where they set up home in a 20 foot Airstream trailer, until 1954 when they moved back home to Oklahoma.

My grandfather found work as a welder at American Airlines in Tulsa, not far from Bartlesville where they grew up, and they settled in Broken Arrow, a small town just outside of the city. There they built a home and settled in for the next 23 years.

Rather than letting herself get sucked into the 1950s black hole of domestic paradise, Mema went to work full time as a telephone operator for General Telephone and Electric. This is when my mother starting learning how to cook and clean to help out after school.

As I said, Mema never shirked her duties. Her home was clean and meals were cooked, and cooked well. She did the housework; Grandad did the yard work. It was all as it should have been for that era. Now that I am grown, though, I can see that it was just that: duty. She took no pleasure in the cooking and cleaning. I understand that completely, as I am sure many of you do. However, I also know many women who really love one or both of those tasks. These women are mean to be homemakers. Mema was not.

When I was a baby they moved to a new home and a few years later they both retired. Once free from the daily grind Mema took up a couple hobbies: word find puzzles, crochet, and watching soap operas (to her this definitely qualifies as a hobby and was the only one she indulged in until the day she died at the age of 83). These things she enjoyed, but she did them in the same way she cooked and cleaned. She followed a pattern, a recipe, or a set of rules to the very letter with no modifications. She never saw a crochet pattern and decided to add a different trim or a bit of ribbon. She never saw an item in a store and decided she could do that herself. Store bought was always better, without exception.

She was a good, if predictable cook. I remember once, just once, eating a tv dinner at her house, but I think that was at my own begging. She and Grandad never went out to eat except for Sunday dinner after church. Her mashed potatoes had no match and her cakes were mouthwatering. Her real talent, however, was candy making. I won’t get into that here because I plan a whole post on that one day. They were a real treat.

Crochet was a wonderful thing for her as she began to feel her fingers stiffen with arthritis and she kept it up until the day the pain was too much for her. Mema made two patterns. That was all. She would crochet afghans in either a wave pattern or rose squares. The rose squares could also be used as potholders or sewn together for Christmas tree skirts. She used Red Heart yarn. When she learned something she stuck to it and there was no change. I have one of those wave afghans. It appears as though she used up all her left over skeins on this one. It also is full of holes today. My mother has all of the best ones. I also am the very proud owner of a tree skirt which is one of my most prized possessions.

I am told I am more like her than just my name and I know it’s true. I was also spoiled and coddled. I also am not inclined to the domestic arts. But perhaps, in some ways I am more like my mother, Judy.