sunday gravy

Sunday Gravy for me is the comfort that comes at the end of the weekend, a hearty send-off into five days of an off-kilter work/life balance. My intention is to blog just on Sundays, unless something really spectacular happens mid-week that needs to be shared. Some will be funny, some sad, some sappy, some corny. Hope you are okay with that. So let's get started, with a heartfelt tribute to three of the best gravy makers/comfort givers I know. Heads up, this falls into the sappy/sad category. You may find it a little boring too, but for me it was very cathartic writing. You may even need a tissue.

My beautiful mother Janice. She is funny. She is smart. She wipes the gravy sloppings from the side of the plate before serving and taught me that presentation is 90% of the meal. Sunday dinners when I lived at home were taken in the dinning room with the good crystal and china so she could instill proper table manners in my brother and me. The roasting pan on the element bubbling with warm brown goodness, the box of Bisto on the counter, a bag of flour within arms reach for extra thickening, the constant stirring. She says it took her a long time to become a good cook, but when you cook with love, how could anything turn out badly?

My Nana. She passed away in February. It was heartbreaking. It's still heartbreaking. I'll never taste her turkey gravy or sage stuffing again, but I will always remember her sage advice with a full heart. I can still hear her contagious laugh, the love in her voice when she called me 'Pet' or 'Lor'. She taught me how to dice onions and hard boiled eggs, how to play cribbage, to make sure no one got the bay leaf, how to beat whipping cream into the perfect topping for pumpkin pie. She learned to waterski as a Grandmother, bought her first bicycle after retirement and never did learn to drive, but she was always there to cheer through my failures and eventual success behind the tow rope, bought me my first 'big-girl' bike and encouraged getting my licence. She could clean a fish two ways; quick'n'easy and ready to fry, or slow'n'steady, accompanied by a lesson in fish anatomy. And the pride in her voice when she told people I worked at 'The Bell' always made me feel warm inside. At her memorial my Papa gave me her wedding band - I wear it every day because I can not bear the thought of the metal getting cold. There are 60+ years of commitment in that ring. 60+ years of love. 60+ years of gravy.

And last, but certainly not least, a lady who is Gram to some, Great-Ma to others, but who will always be Gramma to me. She is 93. That's right, 93. Still driving, still active, still a firecracker. My favourite memories come from standing on a chair beside her at the kitchen counter, slowly adding the carefully measured ingredients of any given confection into her stainless steel KitchenAid mixer. Together we churned out copious amounts of cookies, dessert squares, cheesy snacks. She let me drink tea as we sampled those tasty treats, and she always bundled some for me to take home. She introduced me to 4 o'clock cocktails (at an appropriate age!) and sometimes still gives me the cherry from her Whiskey Sour. She gave me quarters to put in my little purse so that when the collection plate came around at church, I always had something to contribute. Recently, she moved into a full-service care facility with a small kitchenette. Our days of baking together are behind us but her recipes are not. I'll stand my niece on a chair beside me at the kitchen counter to add those same ingredients, and let her drink tea as we sample those same tasty treats.

Thank you ladies, for instilling in me your strength of character, a sense of humour, a touch of humility, infinite wisdom, but mostly for the unconditional love I know could always be counted on.
I love you xoxo