More About MOMMA

This old pie plate is a great example of my grandmother's love of impulse shopping. It is a stoneware plate, deep and durable. She brought it home one day when I was young, and I don't imagine she planned on following the recipe for Cherry Pie that is painted on it. But it sure turns out a lovely crust. When I got a little older and started experimenting with pie making, as I alluded in an earlier post, it took some time for me to master pie making, things started to gel. We had glass Pyrex plates, old black tin pie plates, aluminum pie plates, Momma had them all. But I always was drawn to this heavy stoneware pie plate. She's a beaut!

It's been in our kitchen in both the old house and our new house, for probably the better part of 50 years. Maybe more. If only it could talk! Oh never mind, it would probably just tattle all my swear words as I work with it.

Over the years, it has baked delicious pies, yes of course; but also Meat Pies, Galettes, and Quiches, lots of them. And yesterday it baked this lovely Blueberry Pie. Sometimes it comes in handy as I use it to bread fish or make a small batch of baked macaroni and cheese.

But of all things, I love making pie, and I love serving pie. Oh and did I mention, I love eating pie?

My all time favorite is Strawberry Rhubarb, which would be the reason we planted rhubarb decades ago, with stock from Freddie's patch. It's red and beautiful and there's usually some to share.

What's your favorite pie? Or pie memory?

But back to Momma. From growing up the youngest of 14 children, and never knew her father, as he died when she was 2, she sure was resourceful.

She loved to shop when she was feeling good, she loved a trip to Charlottetown, and usually Art was accommodating. If it was a rainy day, so much the better, as no farmer was going to waste a perfectly good day driving to Town. You made hay while the sun was shining, and you went to town on rainy days. And as soon as we kids noticed Momma was putting on a little make up, and checking her purse, we knew it! She was heading to Town! And we knew what that meant.........treats. She never came home empty handed. Bags of those famous square shaped coconut marshmallows, fudgies, or good god.....fudge! As I mentioned earlier, she had a raging sweet tooth. Once she brought home a goldfish, but I digress. (We didn't eat him.......) But she was impulsive!

As I said, she was quite a shopper, and was weak if there was an item she thought she needed.

But this pie plate. If it could talk.

Just getting home from MacPhee's Apple Orchard on a sunny afternoon in the fall, was there anything more beautiful than a fresh Apple Pie, loaded with sugars and lots of cinnamon, and thickly sliced apples piled high? I soon learned the difference that "pie" apples made, over just any apple. My favorite is the "NovaSpy" a relatively new variety, and how could I pass that up? A NEW variety with my name on it, it was meant to be! This pie plate makes a pie big enough for 10 good slices, plenty for everyone. Just please pass the coffee!

My son-in-law Jason loves all things Coconut, so nothing doing, a home made Coconut Pie was in order for his birthday. Someone else can make cake!!

On many of those early trips to Charlottetown, I was often an unwilling passenger, as poor Momma had to drag me to countless doctors and dentists to come up with a solution for my narrow facial bones creating a lot of crowding. They did what they could, but there were no resources to go off-Island to have my teeth straightened, so I did without.

But you can bet that years later when a couple of my kids needed an orthodontist and braces, they got them, no argument. Jamie and I had the resources, and we worked together to do the best we could for our family. And that's all I have to say about that. I learned early on that you can't have everything.

But one thing I did have was a Mooney cousin my age who got to go on those trips with me sometimes, no doubt to keep us both out of trouble. But somehow we got into plenty anyway. Art was pretty calm, but on those drives he would have a lot on his mind, not the least of which was trying to find these offices to drop Momma and me off, then go do his own errands.

On the way home, the giggling would begin, and the more we giggled, the more Art would roar. It's no doubt we were distracting, but we couldn't help it. We laughed at nothing in particular, and just when it subsided somewhat, we would take one look at each other and screech with the laughs again. We were a pair. I don't know how Art didn't skin us!

Which takes me back to another road trip to the city when I was maybe 13 or 14, but this time Debbie was in the driver's seat, with Irene riding shotgun, me in the back with one of Debbie's friends, Barb Dixon, and she may correct me, but I think I'm remembering that right. I just have a warm memory of a lovely girl day kind of trip, they were all so good to me.

Momma's childhood however, was no picnic; from her stories, what I overheard and from what I gleaned from the grown-ups. She didn't talk about it much, and I'm sure it wasn't much different from most experiences that all our grandparents had. I only had the one. After all, she lived through both World Wars and the Great depression. The stories she would have! And her parents before that, those stories would have filled a book!

One or two stand out.

Momma's name was Elizabeth Ann Heartz. Such a pretty name. But kids being kids, and she was the baby of 14, someone shortened it up to "Lizzie" and it stuck. Which I suppose isn't all that bad.

Except she hated it. To her dying day.

In the schoolyard, which you have to remember would have been around 1914 or so, (she would have been about 8 years old) someone started taunting her, saying "Lizzie the Lizard! Lizzie the Lizard!! If you play with Lizzie, you're a Lizard too!" And it didn't help that Momma's hands were rough and hard and she already felt bad enough. Now no one wanted to play with her. She was crushed. Kids can be so cruel, and she always maintained that.

But another one of her stories has stuck with me all my life. And god yes, it proves kids can be cruel, and that kind of pain can last a lifetime. And that's a long time. I have posted it before, a couple of years ago, so if you've already heard it, please skip on.

This story involves Momma and two of her little chums as playground friends. They came from the same type of circumstances and had a lot in common. Poverty, large families, hand-me-downs, not a lot of food, and what have you. There was another little posse that also had a lot in common. They were a tight knit group of little girls who fathers were either the local doctor or politician, or other well-placed job in the community. For anyone who has watched "The Little House On The Prairie" think Laura and Mary Ingalls always at odds with Nellie Oleson. Same deal.

This particular day, which Momma never forgot, was I suppose like any other day for kids. It was outdoor time, and one little girl from the snotty posse was sharing the end of her box of chocolates with her group, but not with anybody else. Doesn't sound like a big deal I know, but imagine the rarity of such a thing. In the country back then, no one had ever tasted a chocolate. Remember, barley candy (eww) and an orange were the Christmas presents of the day, for perspective.

But this lucky little girl was enjoying being Queen for a day as all the kids followed her around, just for a look. She was known for her lofty attittude and refusal to associate with kids she thought were beneath her. She had no intention of sharing her chocolates with anyone but her chosen few, but that didn't stop the kids from looking. Lizzie too.

Then when her box was empty, she was trying to decide what to do with it. In my mind, but you have to remember I like making up stories or filling in the blanks, her face was sly and cunning. She looked around.

"Does anybody have anything to trade?" And this coming from a child who wanted or needed nothing.

Of course the other kids were hollering "Me! Me!" And Lizzie had to think quick. She needed to have it. She had never had even one piece of chocolate, she didn't really even know what it was, but it seemed pretty popular.

She shouted "I'll trade you my pencil!" And the deal was struck, in front of the schoolyard. Lizzie claimed her prize of an empty chocolate box, and the little miss flounced off with the pencil. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had set poor little Lizzie up.

Now I'll fill in the blanks.

In Momma's family, which was huge, the youngest few children went to school, while the older ones were either already out on their own, or needed at home.

There was no money. None. Slates were still common in school. So if a family had the means to buy a pencil or two for their children, they had to make them go a long way. In Lizzie's family, each pencil was carefully cut in two so that they went twice as far. They weren't allowed to have their pencil at home, their mother took it them from them as soon as they got in from school, and handed them back out in the morning, if they were going to school. They were that precious.

So to imagine the shock when Mrs. Heartz found out that Lizzie didn't have her pencil. Just an empty chocolate box that poor little Lizzie was so proud of. She was horrified. Lizzie tried to tell her that she just wanted it so she could have the smell of chocolates, but there was no pity. Lizzie got well-schooled in what kind of people would raise a child to be so cruel, when they knew full well how valuable even a half-pencil was, and their child had no need of it.

Lizzie was duffled up in her coat and marched right over to the doctor's house, since that's who it was. She had to ask the little miss for her pencil back and reluctantly hand back the empty box, exotic smell and all. She was humiliated, for she knew the story would be told all over the schoolyard, and right then and there, she wanted to quit school. All she could think of was the intoxicating smell of that box, she had never smelled anything like it, and could only imagine what the candy would have tasted like. It was worth a half pencil! But not to her mother.

She was made to return the next day, as pride had a place in the poor family, they were very proud and Lizzie had done nothing wrong.

But in all this time, over a hundred years has passed, and I have no trouble imagining my grandmother as a child, full of angst. How she knew darn well she would be punished for "losing" her pencil but it seemed worth it to own such a thing. A pretty box, but an empty box, just so she could have the smell of something she might never have. Chocolates. When my grandmother told me that story, I was right there in that faraway school yard with her. How friggin sad is that. Pitiful really, when you think of circumstances today. Babies are cutting thier teeth on chocolate.

I really feel that kids like the little rich girl behave that way, because it is, after all a learned behavior. I don't think children are born cruel. Or racist. Or bad. I think they learn it.

But unfortunately for my grandmother, she had a learning experience too, and a humbling one. And I would just like to wager where Momma's insane sweet tooth and love of buying and sharing goodies came from. Childhood experiences? Who knows? Something makes us who we are.

I loved my grandmother and she was a wonderful, incredibly generous and giving person. She taught me many, many things.

But she had a dark side too, and in gathering a thread here and there throughout my life with her and without her, those threads are beginning to be woven into another story which I may start later.