happy birthday Mom!

What better way to honor the woman who instilled within me a deep appreciation for and love of real butter than to make a cake that contains almost two pounds of it?

I opted to not put the jam between the layers, in deference to family members who wouldn't like it.

I've been wanting to try making real buttercream, and that's where over a pound of the butter went.

The recipe made a LARGE batch of frosting-all the better for tasting. Please overlook the smears of frosting on the cakeplate.

The cake was just this side of overbaked, which was irritating, but was still tasty. I mean really, with all that butter it couldn't be horrible.

Happy birthday, Mom!

. . . 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.