In my minds eye, I can still see the flour and shortening on the kitchen table and the big flowered fiberglass bowl mama always used for mixing her pie crust. Her sister Lora, gave her that bowl, I believe. We were baking apple pie that day and I was very excited, not only because I loved pie but because it meant I got the leftover dough.
On the opposite side of the table from where she was working, mama placed a couple pieces of waxed paper with flour sprinkled generously over them. I patiently waited and watched as she carefully picked out all the leftover dough scraps and placed them in front of me. It was as if someone placed the "holy grail" in my hands. A teacup with just enough sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon, a tablespoon or two of soft butter and it was mine to do as I wished.
I remember her cautioning me to be careful with her rolling bottle before I began. Mama had this old wine bottle that was a fixture in her kitchen and as prized as any fancy rolling pin. I can't remember her ever using anything else but that green bottle when baking. I don't think I ever knew where it came from or how it found its way into her kitchen, considering her distaste and complete abhorrence for alcohol.
I would roll, then cut out my pie crust cookies with an old Bama jelly glass. I remember thinking these were my own invention, probably not that original but this was where my love for baking began. Rolled thin to keep them crisp on the edge and soft in the middle. A smidge of butter applied with the back of a spoon. [Mama preferred I use a spoon as I was the only "leftie" in the household. Everyone took cover when I held a knife] A little sprinkle of sugar cinnamon and in the oven they went.
Carefully I removed them from the oven and magically brothers appeared! Wait, what? I enjoyed being the one in charge of the cookies. I am the baby of the family and it seemed to me back then, I never got to do anything before they did and they always got to make decisions I could not. Later in life, I realized the decisions they made were almost always for my safety. My brothers paved the way for me, they wore mama and daddy down, creating smooth sailing for me as a teen. When cookies were baked however, I was the one in power.I hear women complain about never baking pies these days because of the mess the pie crust makes. Mary Lou could toss out a crust in ten minutes, she never worried about the mess. Mama was meticulous about the kitchen being "clean" when I was a little girl. Now she was a messy person by nature- newspaper in the floor by her seat on the couch, clothes fresh from the line across the "clothes" chair, things like that. Then, when I was ten years old she went to work full time and I'm not sure the house was ever completely clean again. She assigned chores to all three of us but it wasn't the same as her doing it.
I think I was about 16 before I realized my brother Steve (he's five years older) was the smart one. Yep. During school, we walked about a quarter mile home from the bus every afternoon, kicking cans plucked from the side of the road. Mama would call shortly after, making sure we all arrived home without incident. She would give instructions on what was to be done before she arrived home that evening. Steve would dutifully repeat instructions. Leisa, get the clothes off the clothesline and fold them, iron a shirt for daddy for work tomorrow. Do your homework, then feed the dog and set the table.
Crant, (he's four years older than I) cut the grass, weed the peas and dig up some potatoes for dinner.
Steve would start dinner and talk on the phone to his girlfriend. Apparently, Crant and I were slow on the uptake because we never questioned him. It was only much later when a huge smile came across Steve's face when questioned, we realized he was told to do all those things (with our help). Even then, he would say "Mama, didn't you say "get it done?" well, I got it done. It should come as no surprise, Steve has worked for himself for most of his adult life and he's still an excellent cook.
My other brother was more of a discoverer and explorer. He had binoculars for watching critters and a microscope, does some taxidermy work and he paints beautifully. He loved the sciences and was always growing something in a jar or lid.
I once cut myself with a razor blade to give him blood to look at under his microscope. Mind you he didn't tell me to cut myself but he didn't stop me either. He had me sit right beside him with the blade to place directly on the slide. When mama found out she was a smidge perturbed and if I recall Crant lost his microscope privileges for a time. I was dared not to ever cut myself again for any reason. I think that was blown a little out of proportion, don't you think? He also took me 30 feet up into the oak tree in the front yard. While he inched me down and mama seethed on the ground, he was trying to explain the fabulous view considering we lived on a big hill. Mama, you can see the crossroads from that perch, it's amazing and Leisa needed to see it. My mother was not impressed.
Those same brothers taught me to ride a bicycle, bait a hook, gave me my first Bible, protected me, read to me and toted me from the bed Saturday mornings wrapped in a quilt to watch Bugs Bunny.
We've stood side-by-side through death and difficult times as well as joys in our lives. As we get older I find our ages have equalized. I would not trade either of them for the world. Next time I see them, I'm taking them a piece of pie.
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