It's the little things that get ya sometimes

For at least two decades, we had a family tradition at Thanksgiving.  When I say "we" in this instance, I mean my mother and me.  The rest of the family somehow avoided participating with us in this tradition - lucky for them, but I'm a bit sad they missed it, too.

Every year, my mom would freak out about 7:00am on Thanksgiving Day because she would have just discovered that she did not have enough corn starch to make gravy for the X number of people coming to Thanksgiving dinner.  In the 21st century, this would not be much of a problem, as grocers all seem to be open on holidays.  However, when I was younger, this was a very real problem because the only thing open on Thanksgiving were gas stations, convenience stores and Chinese restaurants.   So my part was that I'd scrounge around (going to neighbor's homes if necessary) and find enough corn starch to allow Mom to calm down.


One would think that after maybe twice, she'd have made sure that she always kept extra corn starch in the pantry - but that wasn't how Mom's brain worked, at least when it came to corn starch.  Mom would always have a large gathering at Thanksgiving.  She could calculate the exact number of pounds of turkey that would be needed.  She'd plan an elaborate schedule so that she could fix all manner of dishes, and have them all ready right on time.  She could plan a menu beyond compare, cook like Martha Stewart, but she could not remember to buy corn starch.  That was just my mom.

My mom was a brilliant woman, don't get me wrong.  When I say brilliant,  I mean REALLY brilliant.  She ran a multi-million dollar company that operated all over the world.  She raised four kids mostly alone, as my father was often traveling and occasionally gone for months at a time.  I saw her face numerous "insurmountable" problems that she solved quickly and creatively while people around her were rendered helpless.  She was brilliant, for sure.   Well, except that she had a couple areas in her brain where the cells did not touch.  Corn starch was filed in one of those areas.

I suspect I also have those areas in my brain (my kids will swear to it, I'm sure... and they'll tell you ridiculous stories about butter knives, but you won't believe those stories because they are too dumb to be true.  Really.   So if they try to tell you stories about butter knives, just smile and nod.).  Anyway, back to where I was before I parenthetically interrupted myself....  It is fortuitous that I do not have corn starch stored in one of those areas of my brain.  So after determining that corn starch was my mom's mental kryptonite, I solved the whole problem by keeping an extra box in MY pantry.  Every October, I'd check to make sure I had an extra box. Problem solved.  At 7:00am Thanksgiving morning, the phone would ring and it would be my mom - freaking out about not having enough corn starch.  "It's already in the car, Mom," I'd say.  "I'll be there in a little while.  Don't worry!"

This all worked great until Thanksgiving 1992.  The problem with my plan that year was that my mom had died in September.  A day or two before Thanksgiving, I opened the pantry, saw the corn starch and just dissolved into tears.  I'd done great from September to November.  It was just that box of corn starch that got me, slammed me face first into the ground and would not let me get back up.   My kids probably thought they were going to have to call someone.... but after a few hours, I finally got a hold on my self.

It doesn't happen every year - but at least a half dozen times in the last 18 years, corn starch has nearly put me out for a day.  I never expect it, it just happens.

So here it is, 2010.  Why am I writing about this today, you might ask.  Because today, BoatGuy and I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items and I happened down the baking aisle.  I don't know why - but that dadgummed corn starch almost jumped off the shelf at me.  After all these years, it was all I could do to get finished with my shopping and out to the pickup tear-free.  I ALMOST made it into the pickup, but not quite.  I started crying in the parking lot and had to explain to BoatGuy why something as innocuous as corn starch makes me cry.

I still keep an extra box around, by the way.

I miss you, Mom.