I Wanna…Blog Some

Thinking about my mom motivated me to make one of my favorite meals.  Well, thinking about my mom and fall like weather here in Phoenix (woohoo a high of 86◦!) motivated this meal.  My mom used to make it regularly and even though I wasn’t paying much attention I think I’ve figured out how to make it (unlike her enchilada sauce).  We never knew an official name for it so we named it Goop or Goup.  I figure Goup is more appropriate since it’s soup made with ground beef.  

The ingredients for Goup are:

• Ground Beef
• Potatoes
• Corn
• Water
• Flour
• Pepper
• Parsley

There’s no real recipe.  There’s an order, but no measuring.  Cook however much ground beef you have.  Add just enough water to cover potatoes that are cut into fairly small cubes.  Cook until potatoes are done.  Add however much frozen or even canned corn (or I suppose carrots or some other veggies would be fine, but then it’s not the same).  Thicken it with a little bit (or more) of flour (depending on how much water you used).  Then you add some pepper.  And a little more pepper.  And a little more pepper.  (I’m a pepper person and not a salt person.)  Add some parsley.  If you want you can add just a smidge (really, a smidge only) of red chili powder. 

I suppose Goup is a poor person’s meal.  That would make sense since we lacked a lot of moola in our coola growing up.  But, man, what a comfort food it has always been for me.  I don’t know if I should make it more so my kids also like it or less because they kinda seem to hate it.  Maybe I just need to find a better name for it.  Something like, "If You Eat This I Will Let You Have Ice Cream For Dessert."

I wasn’t even thinking about it.  Much.  I had a general idea, but wasn’t doing some count down to the date.  Then I was looking at a friend’s blog and there was the date on her post she wrote today.  October 5, 2009.  It’s been 15 years since my mom died.  Well, assuming she died after midnight.  That’s the funny thing about dying in your sleep.  No one can be totally sure of what day you died (or there’s my dad who died while awake and we still don’t know what day he died because he lived alone and that sucked too). 

So, 15 years.  I don’t have to do the math because it was just a couple of months after I got married and I’ve been married 15 years.  Some days it feels like I never even had a mom.  There’s this vague idea or fantasy of what it was once like to have a person in my life that would take my calls no matter what time it was during the few times we lived apart (I lived at home until I shacked up with my now husband and only moved away from home a few times and then once she moved away from home briefly).  We became best friends eventually, but it was not an easy road to that. 

My mom said things to me that no mom should ever say to a child.  There were a couple of times when police had to be involved with smoothing things out between the two of us.  I wasn’t an easy child (I know that now that I have children of my own).  But eventually we were great friends.  I could tell her anything.  It sometimes freaked out my boyfriends that she new such intimate details of my life.  It may have even freaked out some of her boyfriends if they knew what she told me. 

My mom became one of my greatest supporters.  She told me what she was proud of and it wasn’t always the typical stuff to be proud of.  Once she told me that she admired the way I treated men the way that they treated women.  That might not seem like a compliment, but I think what she meant was that she felt like I didn’t get hurt by men the way she had she seemed to think I knew what I wanted and went after it (or him).  But she also seemed very relieved when I settled down.  There’s a part of me that thinks she was ready to let go of this world as soon as I married because she trusted this guy I found.  She knew that I was in good hands and found someone that would keep me safe.  Maybe that was something she recognized as the oldest of 8 kids that I was a true "baby" of the family and would always do better with some help than on my own.  She was ready to hand me over. 

I can’t remember her voice.  I can’t remember what her hugs felt like.  I can’t remember how she walked or snored or sang or anything anymore.  She’s as real as the Loch Ness Monster.  I have pictures.  I have my wedding video.  Some place I even have her old answering machine with her voice on it.  But none of those things make me feel like she was just here a second ago.  I have memories and sadness.  I have three kids that have never met her.  I tell them that to know me is to know her.  I ended up being just like her in so many ways.  I wanted kids–especially a daughter–so that I could have a mom in my life again even if that mom was me.  I hope that my kids will forgive my mistakes, know I’m proud of them, and remember they can call me at any hour. 

My Mom & me on the day that we met. 

My Mom & me one Halloween (I’m the one on the right).