My Grandmother’s Pies
Her name was Rose. A fitting name for a woman who was described by all as sweet, sweet, sweet! Rose came from the generation of women who were proud to say they had an eighth grade education. Women in her community and countless others like her went to work at a young ages to help support their families at the lowest level jobs that would hire women. Rose worked in a factory, six days a week, and never missed a day of work for years and years. It was hard, tiring, dirty and thankless work. As my grandmother would tell me, “In those days, you just did it!”
As luck would have it, she met a man, Joe, in a boarding house in a small Midwest City, where she and my mother had been living. Joe, 7 years her junior, was handsome, charismatic and a bit mischievous. His profession is what was called a “boilermaker”; basically, he welded metal together. Rose and Joe fell in love, married and went about setting out on a life together.
They bought a two bedroom house in a suburban neighborhood, on the bus route, within walking distance to the church, the grocery and the bus stop. Because neither my grandmother nor grandfather drove or owned a car, they had to have easy access to those critical connections. My grandmother, a devout converted Catholic, attended church every Sunday, and was part of a quilting club dubbed ‘The Women’s Club’. The Women’s Club had numerous activities and projects – all volunteer of course – that brought women together to share, laugh, and make deep heart-felt connections and life-long friendships. It was a culturally acceptable way for women “at that time” to get out of the house, unaccompanied by men, and “play” and “do good”. The idea was something like, “What could go wrong if your wife was with the ‘girls of the ‘Women’s Club’”? They took on projects, like making quilts, baking and tending to the needy of their congregation.
It was the Women’s Club that launched my grandmother’s notoriety. On Sunday morning, certain members of the Women’s Club agreed to donate bakery goods to be sold to the church congregation after each Sunday morning’s 9:00 a.m. service. Rose took on this project of ‘baking goods’ and selling them to make money for her church and Women’s club.
Every Saturday, early in the morning, my grandmother would begin the baking process – winter, summer, spring and fall. Nothing less than her homemade bakery goods would be acceptable to give to the church on Sunday morning. The dough or batter for the prized bakery goods had to be made with real butter and flour that was sifted through the sifter – twice, sometimes three times to insure the proper lightness and consistency of the dough.
If you were to walk into her home on Saturday, your senses would be bombarded by the smell of sweet yeast dough rising, much the way a real bakery smells when you walk in their door. One whiff made your senses and stomach want to go no further! After the whiff, your eyes would spy pans of dough atop the
radiators covered with ‘tea towels’ to insure the proper warmth to help the yeast raise the dough to its perfect level for baking. When the baking was complete, Rose had homemade pies, Bundt cakes as light as a feather, cinnamon rolls covered with homemade gooey pecan topping, and coffee cakes of all kinds- blueberry, strawberry, etc. Her “goodies” were so plentiful; they would require their own table at the ‘Bakery Booth’. Crust on her pies was known not just for their flavor, but the texture. Light! Sweet! Unbelievable!
Rose’s bakery goods started selling out in short order and hours before the other Women’s Club bakery donations. It was embarrassing at first for my Grandmother. Her table was abuzz with people buying her bakery goods and she had to have her own cash drawer. It was only after her goodies sold out that the patrons turned to purchase what was left on the other tables.
Eventually, mischievous Bakery Booth patrons would call my Grandmother on Friday night or early Saturday morning asking, “Rose, if you’re baking an apple pie for tomorrow’s booth, would you please save it for me?” Obviously, the caller wanted to get “dibs” on that pie before someone else! But, this was totally against the rules. You weren’t supposed to call Rose and put in an unofficial request and think that that bakery good belonged to you before it showed up on the table on Sunday morning! Bakery goods were a first come- first served item. Rose would always gently reply, “I am so happy you like my pie, but you know I can’t set one aside for you. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. But you could always get their first in line!” she would say, as a way to ‘bend’ the rules.
When I think of my Grandmother, the sweet smell of dough and the taste of her cinnamon rolls, I’m reminded of the saying, ‘labor of love”. This is just one example that describes the heart and soul of my Grandmother. She believed that it was important to commit to a cause and pour your heart and soul into making it successful. She believed that when you take on a cause bigger than yourself, when you give freely of your time, money, resources, and her case, her baking talents, that what you give will come back in ways you do not expect nor anticipate. She believed that the power of each individual and the group, in her case it was the Women’s Group, will bring greater good to the cause.
When I think of Rose, I mull over how baking truly was her gift and contribution. It was the way in which she differentiated herself from others and how it eventually became part of her identity. Now mind you, she didn’t consciously decide that she wanted to stand out among others. My Grandmother would never have had that kind of a thought. She was humble, gracious and kind. And with an eighth grade education, her self-esteem was affected as she looked around the world as saw others in her Women’s Group who were more highly educated, worked at professional jobs outside the home and seemed to have greater financial resources than she. But it did not deter her passion to contribute – to help others. She knew her contribution was worthy, as small as she thought it might be. Yes, my grandmother wanted to make a difference in the world. Baking was the way she knew how. It was so her! So she took pride in her work and insured perfection in her baking. And, she loved what she did. She was passionate and engaged. It ignited her sense of purpose and meaning.
So what kind of lesson can be learned from Rose and her special gift? Every person is different and each of us owns our own unique and special gifts. Each of us possesses special qualities that shout out to the world,”This is who I am! This is what I can contribute! I am special! I am incredible! This is what helps to give meaning to me and my life. This is what I give to others!”
The Women’s Institute of Southern California is a cause that we can all celebrate! It touches many women’s lives, young, old and in between. It touches the lives of many in a selfless and humble way.
Let us all be thankful and full of gratitude and thanks for the many women (and men) who have contributed in so many ways to this great organization over this past year! They are all
like my grandmother, special, unique, kind, generous, giving and selfless. They have all given their talents and touched the lives of so many people.
Please, think of donating to this great organization!
Best wishes and Happy New Year for 2009!
Mary Berney
Life & Relationship Coach
www.maryberney.com
mary@maryberney.com
619-846-0059
