OLD FRIENDS REMEMBERED

Back in the days of the 1950's, my mother regularly received women's magazines. Ms. Bracken was a regular contributor and I enjoyed, even as a grade schooler, reading her column. I imagined a house wife who wasn't a writer, as my own mother was, facing the den of kitchendom with less than enthusiasm and inadequate weaponry for the task that society in those days had forced upon her. She was hardly up to the task of "caramelizing" sugar or "fluting" her pastries and making delicate Italian cookies using a roselli iron dipped into hot oil. These articles could have steeled me against having to cook, but they had the opposite effect. For laced into these articles was a web of information that would serve me well in later years. My first major application was when, as a 20 year old, I became a wife myself. On the theory that if I could read I could cook, I began my culinary career. Ms. Bracken would have marveled at how I made $13 cover three meals a day for a whole week and have them taste good. The article ended by noting that today marked her death at the age of 89. I will watch Amazon on the web for reprints of her many books.

Speaking of books, thinking back to the 1950's reminded me of another woman who took her love of something with her into a writing career. She was Gladys Tabor and her passion was pets, particularly dogs. I mentioned that my mother was a writer and it followed that she had a vast collection of books of all kinds. One such volume was called "Especially Spaniels", and it talked about a woman who had a large farm in New England and bred dogs. The place was called Stillmeadow, and her beautiful old farmhouse was a happy home to the family and to a kennel full of cocker spaniels, Irish setters, and Siamese, Abyssinian and Manx cats. Clearly she was a person I would have personally loved. Every month I read her articles in those same women's magazines to which my mother subscribed. Our family had a blonde cocker spaniel named "Penny" who was clearly my mother's dog although she also loved other family members and certain friends who came to visit. My best memories are of sitting on opposite ends of the kitchen rolling a dog treat called "Yummies™" back and forth to make Penny chase them. When she tired of the game we'd usually give her some. By that time my father would be home from his long day on the moving van and we'd have dinner.

Gladys Tabor's book in my mother's collection entertained me for a long time. She described the birth of a litter of spaniels to her female "Honey". The mother dog, Tabor wrote, was large but in spite of that she maneuvered among the babies with such gentleness that none was ever hurt or even disturbed. When she had attended to her own needs, she nestled down to let the pups nurse. This anecdote, among many, made the chapters fly by. As I read, I could see the tiny mouths stuck tightly to nipples and the eager paws pushing against the mother's stomach to propel her milk into waiting hungry beings. I wanted to help the mother dog gather up her extensive family and keep them safe, warm, and fed.

Yet my favorite old friend is Irma Bombeck whose column appeared daily in the newspaper. Her form of humor was direct yet subtle, identifying with women who could relate to being wives and mothers. From her widely popular column she went on to write several worthwhile books. Perhaps the best known is The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank. She could see things from unusual angles that were perfectly understandable if one only looked through her eyes. Her death from cancer happened much too soon, and I miss reading her work.