It's Just Gravy

It was almost time for Sunday lunch and the five little ones were perched on the bar stools. Since there were five kids and only four stools, the quarters may have been a little close, but that was nothing unusual. Closeness was a given. People were everywhere and the scene that unfolded is particularly clear in my mind. There was chaos, but it was the usual chaos. You know, kids clearing school books and assorted messes off of the round table and inserting leaves so that we could seat as many people as possible at a longer, oblong table. Chairs bigger than the people moving them were being dragged into place. A couple of kids were moving in the little yellow picnic table and its benches where the overflow of younger kids would sit for lunch. Cabinets were being opened and their doors slammed as dishes were being gathered and stacked. Hands were routinely slapped as the boys would try to steal a taste of the roast or potatoes before they were placed on the table. Typically kids were running around non-stop but for some reason all five of us were composed and settled on our bar stools that overlooked the stove where mom was working on the finishing touches for lunch. I poked Randy to get him to look at mom. She had a look on her face that displayed puzzlement. She would stare at the counter, and then turn around and stare at the counter behind her. She opened the oven; and closed it. She looked again at the counter. She moved to the refrigerator and opened and closed the doors not removing anything. Back to the counter for more staring. She glanced up at us perched on the barstools. She asked no questions and neither did we. I know I was wondering what she was looking for, but for some reason, no one asked. I am pretty sure that amidst all of the regular chaos, no one else even noticed that mom was a little confused. She conducted a few more searches, shrugged her shoulders, then opened the cabinet and took out five smaller plates. She cut up the roast into bite sized pieces and spread it out onto the five little plates. Potatoes, peas, and carrots were loaded onto the plates exactly the way we liked it. Randy wanted little green peas on top of his mashed potatoes and Pat wanted potatoes topped with gravy. She knew exactly what should go on each plate; what foods should or should not be touching, who would eat what and how much. It seemed rote the way she managed to get everything just right for each person’s plate. As I write this, I wonder how many “little plates” she fixed in her lifetime. As it turned out she prepared five more than necessary. We all sat down to lunch and Mary Claire was sent back to round up a few more pieces of silverware. She opened the silverware drawer and there she found 5 little plates exactly like the ones that were just put onto the table. Mom knew she had fixed the plates, but just could not figure out what had become of them! All five plates in the drawer. What a conversation piece that was for lunch that day! She just smiled and passed the extra plates around for others to enjoy. I don’t think she ever wondered if she was losing her mind, or stopped to question what made her do some of the things she did. She simply did not have time to dwell on such matters. Looking back, I think it was my parent’s ability to “roll with the flow” that made our externally chaotic life seem internally calm.

As I revisit some of these occurrences, I see that I have had ample opportunity to learn the art of patience and acquiescence from my parents lives. I remember riding with my mom in the Ford Station wagon that was equipped with a standard transmission. When she had that car, we were always guaranteed a fun trip, no matter the destination. She would announce for us to hang on, she would make a few grinding noises with the gears, and then the car would literally shoot out of our long drive way. Next, as we actually started toward our destination, she would floor the gas and hold the steering wheel tightly as the car shook violently for a short distance. Soon, the ride would smooth out and things were okay until we hit a stop sign or red light. We all knew to hang on, for the shaking would start over again as the car rolled forward. I can still see my dad trying to tell her that the car would really run much better if she would start in first gear and then shift the gears as the speed increased. There would be no jerking and sputtering and the ride would be so smooth. She just looked at him and told him to hold on. She did not have time for all of that gear changing stuff and this always got her where she needed to go! It was not too much longer after that a new car complete with an automatic transmission was exchanged for the little standard Ford station wagon. The gears in the car may not have been used, but looking back I think the gears were always turning in my mom’s head.

With so many kids, and a tight budget, my dad tried to help mom organize her finances. Thus the envelope system of financial planning was born. For the month, there was the allotted food money in the “food envelope”, the money for church in the “church envelope”, the phone bill money in the “phone envelope”, the electric bill money in the “electric envelope”, etc. It was a way to gauge spending. In theory, it sounded like a great idea. And, I guess it worked. Sometimes. When the food envelope ran out of money, I would see my mom at the checkout counter of the A & P grocery store “borrow” money from the electric envelope. When that ran out she would switch money from different envelopes to make sure she had what was needed from the needed envelope at the time. She was trying to stay on the budget and was not having to ask for any more money so in her mind, it was working. One night Papa called from a convention he was attending in San Diego. He called collect. She told the operator that she could not accept the call because there was no more money in the phone envelope or in any other envelope, but to tell Papa that all was well! The envelope system went about like the Ford station wagon. Papa returned home, looked at my mom, gently tilted his head, smiled and threw the envelopes in the garbage. People were running all around, doors were slamming, pots boiling over on the stove, the usual chaos and mom stood up on her tip toes to kiss her 6 foot 2 inch financial planner. No matter what the plan might be and no matter how well it did or did not succeed, they had each other. That always seemed to work.

My parents could certainly roll with the punches. And, I know now that there must have been situations that arose at least every hour on the hour that would have the impact of a full blown punch. I did not decide this by observation from my growing up years, but from life as an adult. I don’t ever remember wondering if my mom or dad were upset or hurting. How did they cope with setbacks? Did they start to worry about themselves when plates were lost, or money was short, or things just did not seem exactly normal compared to the rest of the world? Was the way they calmly handled their chaotic life something learned in school? I don’t think so. Mom’s diploma from the University of Texas at Austin was hanging in the old green bathroom of our big rambling house. It was the one bathroom that was rarely used for anything other than storage. Her diploma was framed, and it was hung on the wall, but it was out of sight. I don’t even remember seeing Papa’s diploma anywhere. No, a college education could not have prepared them for what was ahead. I have decided, however, that they could perhaps develop their own curriculum for a course on living life. Detailed instructions would be given on how to look at day to day happenings and isolate the good parts. Perhaps Humor 101 would be the first course. Learn to laugh at life. And at yourself. The one and only thing that I ever perceived that my mom might not be the best at was making gravy. The humor came when there would always be “something” set out to illustrate this short coming. A skill saw would be innocently placed by the gravy boat. Or, much time would be spent making another gravy concoction (one that would look just like the gravy mom made and could easily be substituted without notice). This new one would be thick enough that a gravy ladle would actually stand straight up in the bowl. Sometimes gravy ladles were purposely bent out of shape so that when they were removed from the bowl, it looked as though the gravy had melted the metal. Labels would be attached to the container of gravy, indicating that if there were no such label; no one would recognize the contents of the bowl. The jibes went on and on and mom would always find the
humor that was directed at her gravy making ability. Humor 101. A required course. The course outlining the ability to actually search for and embrace the good that surrounds each of us would be taught next. I know that my parents were adept at this skill for how else could they have survived? It would have been easy to dwell on the “what ifs” and the “how comes” that came with the huge number of people that they were responsible for. Yet it seems that the way they lived gave each of us the feeling that they were always unbelievably grateful that they had such a unique and wonderful life. The next course? Spontaneity 501. This would be a graduate course. Mary Grace Swanson would have to be the author for every piece of required literature for this class. She is the ultimate authority. Mom had just gone into labor with her 8th child when a fire truck zoomed by the house, the sirens blaring. She looked around, thought for a moment, then loaded everyone in the car and took out after the fire truck. She did not want to miss out on any action! Mom’s eyes still have that sparkle and the spontaneity has not waned from her fire truck chasing days. At 87 mom suffered a slight stroke. Less than a year later she has been to Hawaii, Colorado, Washington, California, Maine, and Idaho. She rides her stationary bicycle everyday and attends aerobics on a regular basis. She keeps the books for my brother’s business in Austin, Texas, via the internet. And, at 88, she still answers the phone, “I can go!” Yes, I am sure that should the JC and Mary Grace classes be offered today there would not be a shortage of willing participants. It is too bad that I was a student on the front row in these classes for 18 years and did not realize that I should be taking notes. In a time when large families are rare and somewhat frowned upon, I consider myself lucky to have had the chance to really see how it all worked. I don’t think they would let me in if they did offer the courses and I tried to enroll today. I believe that they would tell me that I had already passed the first major exam by getting to experience my own magical love story. I am convinced that is the secret to the whole course. The rest is just gravy.