My Mother was from Tallinn, Estonia. She always talked with an accent. I love it. She arrived in Portland, Oregon in 1950, with my half brother who was born in Germany. She met my father shortly thereafter.
My Mother sewed all my cloths. I especially remember the black wool coat with faux sheep's wool collar. She cut it from Grandfather's old coat. I loved it, and it fit me for two full years.
I had the privilege of tasting sauerkraut soup and borsch at an early age. Mom's homemade vegetable soup was always so watery; I had to resort to smashing the vegetables with a fork to make it thicker. She never made pizza, a taco or lasagna, but, we had authentic cabbage rolls,head cheese and sourdough rye bread.
Birthday cakes never looked like Betty Crocker's. Mother always baked sweet bread with cardamom spice and sprinkled with powdered sugar. I was the only kid I know who had sour milk in the refrigerator on purpose. She called it "Clabber Milk."
Mother passed away January 1992. Dying from cancer, Mom and Dad moved to Cape Cod so that I could help them in the end, which came in 18 months. I cried, "I'm myself too young to lose my Mother. I feel alone now, the mother of five children myself. I need you to be my Mentor.........Goodbye Mom." Dad moved back to Oregon.
And now, wouldn't you know it, I make the best sauerkraut and spareribs. I'm the only one in my family who eats beets, and, "Does anyone know where to buy buttermilk?"
War and oppression in Europe had taken its toll on her. She struggled at the end with that pain and some hate. She and her mother had been separated 20 years until USSR released Grandmother, and she came to live with us.
I knew when I read the Cape Cod times "In honor of Mother's Day" advertisement today; that I would be spending this afternoon with Mom. As tears fall, I am refreshed in the memory of you, Memme.
-Dusty Finch
