Becoming My Mother

It's been coming on for a while now. This slow transformation into my mother. It became official this week as I found myself making mini loaves of bread to give to people at work. Gift-giving is a national pastime here in Japan, and I've discovered that I, like my mother, would much rather give home-baked goods than store-bought items. I have vivid memories of watching, and occasionally helping, my mom turn out loaf after loaf of her delicious breads - coconut, zucchini, cinnamon swirl - when the holidays rolled around. I knew these were special gifts even at a young age. The time and attention that goes into making something by hand makes any homemade gift special. Something to be appreciated. Hopefully, my Japanese co-workers will feel the same!

Other indications of my transformation? Starting new quilting projects before I finish the last one. Definitely one of my mother's traits! Not only did she teach me the basics of quilting, but she's also taught me that there's no shame in starting more projects than I can hope to finish in a lifetime! I'm glad quilting is a hobby we share, and I love that it has become a tradition that we travel to our favorite quilt store in Plattsmouth each time I'm back for a visit. There is something so satisfying about choosing the perfect fabrics and turning them into a work of art. Well, I don't know that my quilts can be considered works of art, but my mother's are nothing less. Not only did I pick up her love of quilting, I have clearly inherited her fanatic-about-fabric gene. My stash isn't anything near what hers is, but I'm starting to buy and stockpile fabrics at an unnatural and alarming rate. Unnatural because I can't possibly hope to use all these fabrics as quickly as I buy them. Alarming because I have no place in this apartment to store them!

Then there's organizing a dinner party. My mother taught me well the art (anal retentiveness?) of paying attention to detail. Not only should a meal be balanced and tasty, it should also be pleasing to the eye - pretty on the plate! Are there different colors and textures to the meal? A chicken breasts-mashed potatoes-cooked cauliflower menu would never do! (I loved the way the skinny green beans complimented the plump red tomatoes the other evening - no accident, that.) And I've certainly, without a doubt, inherited her love of all things culinary. Tools and gadgets and appliances aplenty! Dishes and linens and cordial glasses galore! If they're from the flea market and have a history behind them - all the better. Just as my mother would, I spend as much time - if not more - on the delivery of a dinner as I do on the actual meal itself. Not in a pretentious way, but out of a genuine desire to create a pleasing atmosphere.

Like mother, like daughter - I am all about atmosphere. Not appearances, but atmosphere. I love it when a place feels cozy and homey and welcoming. A place that begs a visitor to stay a while. My parents' place is exactly that - cozy and homey and welcoming. (It's also jammed-packed full of flea market finds and antique shop treasures. If you've been to their house, you know exactly what I mean! But somehow, she makes it all work.) I love the feeling I get when I walk into their house after a long absence. It's the feeling of coming home. My mother has a knack for making a house a home with all her personal touches. Increasingly, I'm finding that this is something I also dwell on. Making my house - a small apartment, in this case - a home. A place with character. A place with atmosphere. A place in which a visitor might wish to stay for a while.  

We're definitely birds of a feather, my mom and I. And maybe we're a couple of odd ducks (birds - another of our shared passions!). Whatever it is, we're very much alike. I have no qualms about becoming my mother. I happen to think she's a wonderful woman. I can only hope that the transformation continues as I journey forward into motherhood. May I be the kind of mother she has been to me.