Do you ever find yourself doing something, wonder why,
then have a moment when you feel connected by that act to someone not there? I
don’t believe in ghosts, but I do know that people stay with us in other ways.
As I get older, I’m told more and often that I look or sound like my mother.
Sometimes I get a glance of myself in the mirror, catch a certain tilt of my
head or expression and say, “Well, hello, Virginia.” Even more often I say
something and realize that that it sounds not only a little like Mother, but is
exactly what she would have said.
Appearance is easy. Genetics will out. But what about
how we speak? There again, perhaps genetics play a part, but it could be that
we may sound alike because from an early age, we learned to talk by listening
to our parents and others around us. Certainly I would not have had my southern
accent if I had been reared in another part of the country. As to the content,
I suppose many of my views were influenced by Mother, but there still are times
when what comes from my lips is so like what she would have said that it is as
though she, not I, uttered the words.
What brought on this observation today? Potato salad.
Yes, potato salad. I must preface this by saying that I like potato salad, but
am not a huge fan. I go for months without making it or ordering it when eating
out. The only time I absolutely must have it is on the Fourth of July. Yet
today at the salad bar in Fresh Market, I found myself drawn to potato salad.
The spring forward time change always messes me up for
several days, so it was not uncommon that today everything seemed a little off.
I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather to drive around to see the
trees in bloom. I needed an item or two from the grocery store, so I stopped by
Fresh Market on my way home. It was then that a growling tummy reminded me that
I had not yet eaten lunch, even though it was mid-afternoon. As I passed the
salad bar everything looked enticing. Tender green spinach leaves,
strawberries, pineapple, and honeydew melon were soon placed in a take-out
container. I paused before closing the lid. There was the potato salad. I
smiled as I added a small scoop to the side of my salad.
I’ve said before that I heard some of the family
stories so often that they became as much a part of me as my own. So often
Mother recounted trips to Shreveport when she was young. She and her brothers
or friend Mary would be given money to go to a movie, then after the movie they would go to The
Big Chain, a grocery store, where for a nickel she would buy a little cup of
potato salad.
I think today may have been the first time I bought
potato salad at a grocery store, but as I added it to my container I knew why
I choose it today. Well, hello, Virginia.
