Not just a scone: remembering, waiting, hoping

(photo courtesy of Dancing Goat Cafe, Margaree, NS - used by permission)

Today marks six months since my mom died.  Although this may seem like a strange way to commemorate this milestone, I'm posting a picture of a cranberry-almond scone from the Dancing Goat Cafe in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.  Mom and Dad went to Cape Breton a couple of times in the past few years with their close friend Linda.  This cafe, and these scones in particular, were a special favourite of Mom's.

Last summer when Mom became sick, and before we knew just how sick she really was, one of her most significant symptoms was that she lost all interest in food.  We spent a lot of time trying to think of things she might like to eat, but with little success.  She would say wryly, "Dad thinks if I just start eating again everything will be fine."  And I guess he did think that.  We all did:  we thought -- hoped --  that Mom's illness was something relatively minor like an infection, or tiredness due to stress, and that when her appetite returned, so would her strength and health.

One day during that time Linda's daughter Deb, who is also a close friend of my parents, dropped by the house.  She had been in Cape Breton and brought back a box of cranberry-almond scones from the Dancing Goat Cafe.  We asked Mom if she'd like one, and she thought she might.  She ate a quarter of a scone, and we practically celebrated.  We defaulted to those scones many times over the next few days when no other food seemed to interest Mom; she would eat a few bites and seemed to enjoy it.

But her appetite never really returned.  Not long after this, she was hospitalized; a few days after that we received her cancer diagnosis; and she lived only six more weeks.

I spent the last week of Mom's life at the apartment with her and Dad.  Many other relatives and friends came in and out during that time.  One day Deb visited again with her friend Dorothy, whom Mom also knew.  Mom's face lit up enthusiastically when the girls came into her room, and she asked Dorothy how things were in Cape Breton; then she quickly drifted back into unresponsiveness.  I stepped out to let them have some time with her, and I marvelled at my almost-80-year-old mom being visited by two young women in their twenties, to whom she was a beloved friend.

Later that week I answered the door and there was Deb again, this time with another friend named Saskia.  (She had gone to my parents' church for several years, and her parents were friends of Mom and Dad's as well.)  Both girls were carrying two big white bakery boxes, and each box contained six cranberry-almond scones.

Mom couldn't eat anything more at that point, and she died just a couple of days later -- so she never did taste one of those scones. But really, that didn't matter.  What mattered was what they symbolized:  love.  Not just a stingy little crumb, but love in all its extravagance.  The message was, "You love these.  We love you.  So we'll bless you with them, lavishly, because we can.  While we can."

A famous quote by the writer Marcel Proust, in which he meditates on the memories that the mere taste and smell of a cookie evoke, says this:

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.   

- Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past (In Search of Lost Time)

Having been through this experience with my mom, I've been reminded that the smallest thing can have great significance.  A scone can be more than just a scone.  It can be a symbol of love -- one that remains, persistent and faithful, long after the breaking and scattering.

"Quick Lit" for March: great fiction and non-fiction

Today I'm linking up with Modern Mrs. Darcy's monthly "Quick Lit" post to share what I've been reading.  I didn't participate last month, so this post contains two months' worth of books.

 All the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr).  I was surprised and excited to receive this book as a gift from a generous, thoughtful online friend.  It's such a great book that I know I won't be able to do justice to it in a couple of paragraphs, but I'll try.  

The novel focuses on two young people:  Marie-Laure, a blind Parisian girl who flees to the walled citadel of St-Malo with her father (a locksmith at a natural history museum) to escape Nazi occupation; and Werner, a German boy who, because of his mechanical skills -- particularly with radios -- ends up in a brutal training school for Hitler youth.  Their parallel stories are told in short, alternating chapters that steadily build suspense.  Werner slowly succumbs to being a cog in the Nazi machine, and Marie-Laure is wrenched away from the safe world her father has shaped for her  -- until their two stories converge in 1944 and they each seize the opportunity to act with courage and heroism.  

Doerr is an amazing writer who can show us a scene and make us feel it using just a few words:  for example,  "A vault of stars hangs overhead; the collective breath of the cadets mingles slowly, nightmarishly above the courtyard."  Although there is dread and horror in both Werner's and Marie-Laure's stories, there is magic threaded through the whole book as well.  Part of that magic has to do with a myth about a rare and coveted jewel, but beyond that fairy-tale element there are also themes of music, science, adventure, and the power of radio to communicate and connect (something we may not be able to fully appreciate in 2015).  It's a sad book, yet it's also beautiful; and it uses an original style and two unique characters to give a fresh portrayal of a time period that's already been widely written about.

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Fierce Convictions:  The Extraordinary Life of Hannah More -- Poet, Reformer, Abolitionist (Karen Swallow Prior).  Although Hannah More's name is not well known today, this biography may change that.  In 18th/19th-century England, More was an influential writer, teacher, social reformer, and participant in the battle to end the slave trade.  Although her upbringing as a schoolmaster's daughter was modest, as an adult she moved in elite literary, social, and political circles and was a friend of William Wilberforce, Samuel Johnson, and John Newton, among others.  More had the ability not only to see a need but also to use her energy, connections, and other resources at her disposal to meet it.  It is inspiring to read how More, her sisters, and her friends mentored and exhorted one another in their efforts to do God's work in practical ways such as teaching the poor to read, writing edifying books and tracts to encourage virtuous living, and advocating for the humane treatment of animals.  Swallow Prior is an engaging writer, striking the perfect balance of scholarly detail and good storytelling to bring the "winsome" More to life for the reader.  And while the hilarious foreword by Eric Metaxas will make you want to  -- ahem -- "read more," Hannah More's life and accomplishments will keep you reading.

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 Forgiving Our Fathers and Mothers (Leslie Leyland Fields).  I won this book in a draw on the author's website.  While I don't identify directly with the specific issues it addresses, I read Fields' blog regularly and always appreciate her writing.  (I was also interested in the subject matter in more general terms, having read Fields' rebuttal of a particular aspect of Desmond Tutu's writings on forgiveness.)

Drawing on her own experience with an emotionally and physically distant father, and on the stories of others, Fields explores the process of forgiving parents and moving into healing and freedom.  The book focuses on themes like honouring the dishonourable, acknowledging our common humanity, and reclaiming the past.  I appreciate how honest Fields is in sharing the messiness and uncertainty of this process:  her anger and helplessness when visiting her father, her uncertainties about what to say and how, and her regrets around her father's death.  These admissions remind us that real life is rarely tidy like the movies.  Yet the book is also empowering because it shows us that even if "they didn't" or "she can't" or "he won't," maybe we can.  Maybe we can reach out, forgive, be present, and speak words of healing -- not just to free and heal ourselves, but also to help bring restoration and hope into seemingly hopeless situations.

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The Center Cannot Hold:  My Journey Through Madness (Elyn R. Saks).  I saw this book mentioned in a post on Laura Droege's blog and was intrigued enough to get it from the library and read it.  Saks, a successful law and psychiatry professor, has lived with schizophrenia since she was about eight years old.  This engrossing memoir deals with her struggles to achieve academic and professional success, her experiences with therapists, her love-hate relationship with medication, and her social and personal challenges.  A tough book, but triumphant.

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The Sense of an Ending (Julian Barnes).  The narrator, Tony, looks back on his youthful friendship with Adrian, whom he admired, and his relationship with Veronica, whom he could never figure out.  After his breakup with Veronica and the death of Adrian, Tony moves on and, in effect, writes them out of his life for over 40 years.  But then a lawyer's letter about an unexpected inheritance brings the past back, forcing Tony to look at who he was back then and who he has become.  This novel isn't totally satisfying in terms of how it ties up plot threads; many questions are left unanswered.  But how Tony reflects on the passage of time, guilt and remorse, and the imperfection of memory is fascinating.  I read this book for my book study group; it's an excellent novel for discussion.

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Checkout-line encounter 3: smoke signals

This is the latest in my "Checkout-Line Encounters" series:  you can read the others here and here.

Last night I went grocery shopping at No Frills.  A man and woman about my age entered the store just after I did; I noticed that she seemed particularly smiley and enthusiastic, but I didn't pay them much more attention as I went ahead of them up and down the aisles.

When I finished my shopping and went to pay, they were at the next checkout.  I noticed that the woman did the bagging (with great efficiency) while the man paid.  That's the opposite of how Richard and I usually do it on the rare occasions that we shop together:  he'll load the bags and bins while I do the transaction.  In fact, in most cases when I see a couple shopping, I've observed that the man starts the packing process while the woman pays.  It's just one of those gender-role things that we're probably barely conscious of and that just happens without anyone saying, "This is how we should do it."

But then, having paid for the groceries, the man said, "I'll just go for a smoke while you load up, OK, honey?"  And before she could reply, he walked out of the store.

When I got home it was dark, and Richard and Jonathan were playing in the driveway.  I got out of the car and Richard said, "I'll carry the stuff inside; you go on in."

I said, "Rich, you are a prince compared to the guy I just saw at No Frills."

Up until the guy made the "smoke" comment, I'd observed the situation as if it were a bit of a gender-role reversal.  I'd even imagined reasons for his not doing the grocery-bagging: he's the only one with a credit card so he has to do that part; he's got a disability or injury and can't do any lifting; they're not actually a "couple" at all, they're co-workers picking up stuff for a work event.  It was as if there had to be some good reason for a man to let his female partner do the physical work.  I know, I know:  it sounds sexist and dated, but I confess that's what I thought.

But when he left the store to indulge in a smoke while she finished packing, it suddenly wasn't a gender issue at all.  If the opposite had happened -- if the woman had said to the man, "I'll just go for a smoke while you load up, OK, honey?" -- it wouldn't have made any difference.  I'd have thought she was selfish, inconsiderate, and immature.

I don't know what kind of relationship they have, but it didn't look like a nice one.  And that's not because he was a man letting a woman bag groceries; if a couple treat each other right, it doesn't really matter who does which task.

It's because he was a man acting like a jerk.