On mothers day, folks take mother out to dinner or at least give her a call. Mothers usually just wave off any praise and thanks for what they do. Let’s face it, without your mother, you would probably still be wearing diapers.
My mother has been dead for many years. She died at the young age of 59, from a stroke. It’s strange what you remember about your mother. There are a million things, but especially remember fried chicken and fried cornbread.
It took her an hour or more to fry a chicken - which she cut up by hand. She used a cast iron skillet with a lid. She always saved me the wish bone and a breast if I was not at the table at meal time. The chicken was served with white gravy made in the same skillet. That means all the bits of chicken and flavor went into the gravy. Nobody has ever duplicated that meal. And they never will.
Mother made fried cornbread. I don’t know why, except she fried a lot of food. I didn’t like regular cornbread, and fried was even lower down on my list of favorites. But, I ate it. At least I tried to. It was better than her pancakes - which she fried too.
We had pumpkin pie once per year - Thanksgiving. She made three pies. One for her. One for me. And one for the family meal.
What I would give for fried chicken and gravy with pumpkin pie for dessert. My own pie.
I miss her. You will too when she’s gone.
PMO
©2013
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