. . . with a little help from my friends

As I marked the one-year anniversary of my Mother's passing, I'm pleased to say that I felt happy. Happy that I know she is alive and well--vibrant and healthy, happy to be safe in the knowledge that she is not far away and that I will be with her again, and mostly happy that it is not one year ago. And one more thing I know for sure: Mom would want me to be happy.

I have also felt the strength of the Savior's injunction to "mourn with those who mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comfort." Knowing that many of you were joining me in the Bread Brigade (so dubbed by Jessie) was strengthening to me, as were the many kind expressions sent by friends and family alike. I was touched by how many of my friends remembered the anniversary of her death and reached out to me with loving arms; it makes me want to be more mindful of and kind to others who need love and comfort.

Susan sent me this darling framed piece--a happy reminder of Mother's artistry in the kitchen--

that I placed in my kitchen here:

I made Buttermilk Bread on Thursday night and my Dad and I delivered it to three of Mom's close friends. Regrettably, I forgot to take any pictures. I made another batch on Saturday and we delivered loaves to a few ward members between General Conference sessions.

On Friday, after buying some beautiful roses, we drove to the cemetery to place them on Mother's grave.

Karen, Daniel (her husband, not pictured), John, and Sarah came along, too.

On the way home we had to pull over to take a picture of this sign we had spotted at a high-class establishment on our way to the cemetery:

Apparently, there wasn't enough room on the other side of the sign for the whole word.

Mom would have laughed, too.

I love you so much, Mom. I miss you terribly, but want you to know that I'm getting by--with a little help from my friends.

one year ago today

March 28, 2010 was the last time I had a coherent conversation with my mother. I was with my sister Susan in Pennsylvania; I had arrived the day prior (a Saturday) to celebrate Susan's birthday with her. We called Mom after church on Sunday, the 28th, to tell her about our fun shopping day together the day before. We told her about our birthday purchases, talked about what we were making for dinner, and what we were planning to do the next day--all of the everyday details we so enjoyed sharing. Mom said she hadn't felt like going to church that day, saying that she was just oddly tired and didn't feel well. I expressed my concern, said my usual I-Love-You goodbye, and hung up after promising to call again tomorrow.

The next morning my mother suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. Later that evening I was told over the phone by her attending physician that there was nothing more that could be done to save her and that I should get home as soon as possible if I wanted to see my mother before she died. She never regained consciousness. By the time Susan and I arrived home the following day, plans had been made to move Mom to hospice, where she died two days later.

As the anniversary of my mother's death approaches, I feel anew the sharp pain of missing her steadfast physical presence in my life. I long to talk to her about all of the things we used to share, and I can't tell you the number of times I've wanted to phone heaven for a quick answer to a recipe question.

In thinking about how I want to remember or mark the anniversary of her death, I remember that Mom always thought that spending ponderous time at a graveside was rather pointless and overly-sentimental (she was not the sentimental type). So--while I do plan to visit her grave and leave flowers (despite the fact that I can hear her in my mind saying, "Oh Honey, you don't need to bother with that!") I have decided that the best way I can honor her passing is to give service. Mom was always looking for ways to serve others. Even in her later years, with failing eyesight and aching joints, she would bake treats for her neighbors and friends, and for me. She was the true embodiment of the Relief Society motto, Charity Never Faileth.

On April 1st I'll be making homemade bread, using one of my mother's favorite recipes, and delivering it to people who might need a little cheer. I love you, Mom.

Happy Birthday CJP!

Today is my mother's birthday. She would have been 84. It's hard for me to believe that six months have already passed since her death. This is the first time in twenty-one years that I have celebrated her birthday without her (that's how long we've lived in Denver). But I decided that today should be a day of celebration, and not one of sadness.

My dad and I went to Sam's Club first thing this morning and bought a beautiful bouquet of Fall flowers. We picked up my sister Karen and her husband Daniel and drove to the cemetery to decorate Mother's grave. The day is bright and sunny, with just a hint of Fall crispness in the air.

After taking a few photos at the graveside we went to a favorite place to have breakfast: the Sunrise Sunset Cafe, a mom-and-pop establishment that serves tasty home-cooked goodness. We enjoyed being together and we like to think that Mom would have liked the excursion as well.

Now I'm home for the afternoon and plan to bake a cake in her honor, an idea Emily and I had separately and simultaneously. I still haven't decided what kind for sure, but I'm leaning toward the family favorite of Chocolate Cake with White Mountain Frosting.

This photo was taken one year ago, on her 83rd birthday. I was trying to remember what I gave her for her birthday last year and can't seem to recall. What I have come to realize, however, is that even in death my mother continues to give gifts to me--the gift of her enduring wisdom, wit, and expertise--and most importantly, the gift of her faith in and testimony of Jesus Christ.

Thanks, Mom. I love you and miss you, and am so grateful to know that you're not that far away.

first an iPhone and now this

{Three generations of Petersen men--all darling!}

My father, an engineer by trade and a handyman at heart, has always harbored a penchant for gadgets and gizmo's. At the age of ninety he has a GPS system built into his car, a recently-acquired iPhone, and an active FaceBook account.

Given that kind of Cool Factor and street cred, it's really no surprise that he would show up one day with bling on his front tooth:

Well, okay--it's really just a chip in his crown, but Dad got such a kick out the young man who asked him (with some degree of awe-struck admiration) if he had a diamond in his tooth, that I just had to document it before we went to the dentist's office this morning to have it fixed.


Thanks to the wonders of modern dentistry (and to our really kind dentist/friend) the new crown will be in ready and in place in time for Charlotte's wedding in just three weeks. Although, now that I think of it, maybe it would have been sweet to have a bit of bling for the festivities.

blogger to the rescue!

My mother was well-known for her famously-delicious homemade baked goods--especially her cakes, pies, and breads. Of the many things I miss about her, one is her freshly-baked bread. She made it often and shared it freely, as it was one of the things she could still do given her visual impairment. I would commission loaves from her to deliver to ladies from church, or just because I was in the mood for one of my favorites. As I would thank her profusely when she handed over the still-warm loaves she would say something like, "Oh, thank you! You don't know how much I love having something to do, and helping you in the process."

Every year during musical season she would spend about a week making and freezing bread of all kinds to take to the kids during one of their long rehearsal nights. Bread Night is now legendary, and something all of the kids look forward to with anticipation. This photo was taken in March 2009:

Not long ago I realized, with some degree of panic, that I did not have some of my mother's recipes for my favorite breads. I enjoy making bread, too, but my mother had been the one to make it most often and I guess there were a few kinds that slipped through the cracks of my recipe books. Thankfully, as I was reading Miranda's blog one day I came across a post about my mother's buttermilk bread. I almost cried with relief to have the recipe right there for the taking! It's one of my favorites.

So last weekend, to go with a homemade pot of soup, I made my mother's buttermilk bread. I think she would have been proud of the outcome.

Mother's Day, sans Mother

I had been dreading today, Mother's Day, since the day my mother died a little over one month ago. It turns out it wasn't so bad after all. My church meetings were uplifting (as opposed to the sometimes guilt-inducing or overly-sentimental Mother's Day diatribes), and I spent the day with my family--including two of my sisters. After church we drove to Ft. Logan, the cemetery where Mother is buried. We weren't sure if her headstone would be up or not and were pleasantly surprised to find that it was.

Since the graves in Mother's section are all relatively new, they don't yet have sod. Hopefully it won't be long before they do. There is something inherently pleasing to me about the orderly rows of identical headstones in the military cemetery.

Susan arranged a beautiful bouquet of flowers we took to church for the chapel, then came home and rearranged them--from the tall glass vase they were in to a low basket--to decorate the grave (better for not tipping over, should a breeze come up). It was, without doubt, the most stylish arrangement in the entire cemetery and one Mother would definitely love.

My dad held up well today and said that he felt Mother's presence at the graveside. It was a peaceful, happy feeling.

Susan and Fred came from Pennsylvania for the weekend--that's a Mother's Day gift in itself! Susan and I spent Friday and Saturday going through Mother's clothing and personal affects, sorting piles for distribution to family members, friends, etc. There were a few tearful moments, but more laughter and smiles as we reminisced together.

Karen came out for the day (Sunday) and was delighted with the things she received from Mother's stylish bounty! One of the items Mother wanted her to have was her gold wedding band. Dad bought a chain for it so Karen can wear it now without waiting to have it sized.

Mother had designated me as the recipient of her diamond ring, a beautiful ring that to me symbolizes 65 years of committed, loving marriage. My Mother's Day gift was to have the jeweler solder it between my two wedding bands. If you look closely, you can see the ring on my finger in the photo below.

Susan brought along some water to give the arrangement one last drink before we left. (Yes, those are fresh limes in the arrangement!)

Mother's headstone sentiment is a fitting tribute to the live she lived and the way in which she loved us all: Charity Never Faileth.

Today I feel grateful to see my mother's legacy living on in the women in my life, and hopefully in me. I love you, Mom.

spoiled, but not a brat

As the baby of my family I long ago came to the realization that it's okay to be spoiled as long as you're not a brat. This position in my family has worked well for me over the years, especially as the past 21 have found us living close to my parents.

Case in point: My Sundays of late find me busy and often exhausted by the end of the day. While we have always enjoyed eating Sunday dinner with my parents, over the past year our pattern has evolved into my mother planning and making dinner at her house with very little--if any--help from me. To fully appreciate this gift, you must understand that a "normal" Sunday dinner at my mom's house consists of a beautifully-set table (nicely-pressed cloth napkins, always), nothing from a box or a mix (everything is made from scratch, be it gravy, salad dressing, or rolls), and an ever-changing array of our favorite homemade desserts to top things off.

This afternoon I arrived at my Mother's house to find this inviting set-up:

We found this tablecloth at HomeGoods a month or so ago and knew it would be darling with Mom's lime green dishes.

Corned beef brisket with horseradish sauce was on today's menu, accompanied by boiled potatoes, cooked carrots, artisan "rustic" bread, and Winter salad. Ah--a pleasing menu, indeed! But wait--that's not all. Mother surprised me with my all-time most favorite incredible dessert--my manna, as it were: Homemade Chocolate Pie. A moment of silence, please, while you gaze at this enticing photo.

Fights have been known to break out over who gets the last piece for breakfast. Usually I win.

So, while I feel somewhat undeserving, as well as moderately guilty for not contributing more to these fine repasts, I can't deny that I look forward to our Sunday dinners. I feel pampered, cared for, and loved. In my parents' home, surrounding the dinner table, I feel safe. I come away with a feeling of peace and reassurance that, though the coming week may be hectic and sometimes feel out of control, I always have this safe place to which I can return. And sometimes there's a chocolate pie waiting for me in the refrigerator.

Thanks, Mom.

signs of the season

Fall decorations are perhaps my favorite of all the year--perhaps because I love the things I've collected over the years, but more likely because I can actually get them out and put them up in an afternoon unlike Christmas decor, which most often turns into a project of several days.

Though you can't really tell in this photo, letters are etched onto each of these votive candles to spell out AUTUMN.

I've had the autumn vine and raffia pumpkins, shown here on the family room mantle, for more years than I wish to acknowledge and should probably consider replacing them. I pull them out each Fall, however, and manage to spruce them up with a few newer items tucked in--the cutest of which is the "Merry Holloween" china sign hanging with ribbon from an open-back frame (courtesy of Black-Eyed Susan, of course!).

Another gift from Susan, and another favorite of mine, are these "Boo!" kugels and wooden primitive crows which hang in an open half-wall of my desk/craft area.

The only new addition this year was two of these free-standing, billowy wheat sheaves. I love them, especially this one with my favorite Black-Eyed Susan crow perched nearby.

The cutest thing frequently found in my house, however, is my darling parents. This photo was taken on my mother's 83rd birthday. My dad, by the way, turns 90 in January! Maybe this Winter we can convince him to hire out the shoveling. . . .

Happy Fall!

morale boost

After seeing the gorgeous gardens of blogger friends Shannon and Lee, this post seems a bit pathetic, but if you A) knew how little gardening skill and experience I have, and B) saw what we started with, you might just be impressed--or at the very least happy for me that my front yard no longer looks like something that belongs in a neglected trailer park.

When we first moved into our home nearly five years ago suffice it to say that the yard was not the thing that attracted us to the house. The main "garden spot" at the front walkway was a mass of over-grown fitzer bushes that may have been pretty at some time (the house was built in 1959), but had long-since lost their appeal and were nothing but a sprawling mass of spider-infested prickles.

With so much work to do on the inside of the house the outside landscaping lived on in continued neglect, brightened only by an occasional seasonal display on the front door. My attempt at gardening was confined to a pot on my porch which was home to a few lonely petunias and geraniums each summer.

Mark finally tired of my incessant complaining about the horrid bushes and pulled them out at the beginning of last summer. Ah--progress! It was like having a rotten tooth pulled. Finally, a clean slate--or so I thought. Oh. Roots. Lots of twisted, deep roots. Roots that must be dealt with before any planting could take place. Alas, another summer passed--this time with a lovely patch of root-filled dirt as our front-yard decoration--which was, believe it or not, better than the bushes.

Fast forward to Mother's Day 2009 (which of course I have not yet blogged about). Mark surprised me with this beautiful rose bush and a gift certificate to a nice local nursery. I know very little about growing rose bushes, but do know that my favorite color of rose is the one he bought:

We had so much fun going to O'Toole's nursery to select our plants. We chose these two bushes, which I liked for their bright green color, two flats of Vinca in shades of vibrant pink and white, and a flat of a cute creeping perennial with little white flowers. Looks like we'll need a few more gift certificates to complete the project.

Next, it was time to involve the whole family. We spent the rest of that day pulling up weeds and digging out the remaining root stumps. (Yes, we use latex dental gloves for gardening and cooking.)

My parents dropped by at one point and my darling almost-ninety-year-old father helped show John an effective method for manual stump/root removal.

(By the way, my dad still mows his own lawn--how great is that?!)

Ta-Dum! Behold--a root eventually wrangled out by Mark:

The next Saturday I went to buy compost and Mark did the honor of first breaking up the existing clay-filled soil, and then working in the compost. Oh, and did I mention the nasty 40+ year old plastic liner we had to dig out, as well?

Finally it was time for planting! Sarah helped me with this.

Mark dug the holes and planted the bushes, as I'm not so handy with a shovel.

I even re-potted a basil plant I bought for summer cooking.

While the finished product may not look like much yet from the street, and we've already started a list for our next trip to O'Toole's, it looks a heck of a lot better than it did before we started!

Best of all is the morale boost this project has given me. I'm no longer embarrassed to tell people which house is mine, or feel the need to make disclaimers about its outward appearance.

How can you not smile when you have rows of pink flowers outside your front door?

on the mend

Thanks to the aforementioned miraculous camera healing (and also thanks to a brief and much-needed break from my sewing machine) I can finally post the photos I wanted to from last week (a couple in this post, and a lot in a post later tonight).

Mom kindly posed for this hospital photo. She wanted to hold out her hands like a zombie, but I made her place them in this rather sad, invalid-like way, enhanced by the flattering glow of the fluorescent lights.

She was released from the hospital late Tuesday afternoon and has spent the rest of the week recuperating at home. Many friends have called or come by with well-wishes, flowers, dinners, etc. She has quite a large fan base. On Tuesday morning (day after tomorrow) we have an appointment with the pain specialist, who will administer an epidural treatment of cortisone or some other such drug. The procedure is considered a surgical one, but is done on an out-patient basis. I'm hoping and praying that she can get some long-term relief from this treatment.

Here is the picture I like the best--my darling parents holding hands. Mom actually went to Sacrament Meeting with us this morning and she and Dad kindly obliged me this photo when I went to do Mom's makeup prior to church. Tell me, what 82-year-old do you know who wears leopard print so well?

While she still isn't feeling entirely well, she really wanted to attend church and partake of the Sacrament (she has missed the past two weeks). I am always inspired by my mother's commitment to the Savior and feel blessed to have her example of diligence in my life.