Mom

I'll always remember my mother reading a book - a mystery, or one of the many Harlequin romances that she zipped through; in a chair at home or in a sweatshirt, bundled up at Selkirk Shores enduring a cool July on Lake Ontario. I loved our trips to the little Hyde Park public library, and I loved to hear her talk about the far away places that she read about.

I can also still she her serving up one of her exotic home cooked meals. There were the 5 minute steak sandwiches, the goulash, the tuna noodle casseroles, and wonderful meatballs hand formed with loving care. I remember sitting at our kitchen table, listening to the weather on the radio (hoping for a snow day), while she made us oatmeal or cream of wheat for breakfast. I know she looked forward to those summer camping trips, when my father would do most of the cooking and she would have more time for reading.

I can still see her working at our school cafeteria, minding the phones at the rectory, or working the polls on election days.

I remember trips to the Grand Union, the A&P, the laundromat. I can still recall her taking me to the doctor to get stitches in my foot, or for a painful ear infection. When I was an altar boy she would take me to the 6:00 AM weekday masses when I was scheduled to serve.

In college, she would send letters, with checks enclosed. She never forgot a birthday, a graduation, or anniversary. Our kids would get cards at Christmas, Easter, even Halloween. She loved my wife, and all of her children's spouses, like her own children (though I still suspect that she liked Marsha more than me).

I know that she and my father made many sacrifices to put their four children through Catholic elementary school, high school and college, but I never heard her complain about not having some luxury or other. She was content to know her family was well and her loving husband was by her side. All she needed was a good book to read.