The stringent smell of boiling vinegar makes me want to gag. Growing up, it was an annual tradition in our house signaling the end of summer and the start to canning season. I loathed it. I loathed the smell, the humid stagnant kitchen air, and the realization that my carefree, responsibility free life and escapades at Pinehurst Pool with friends would soon be replaced with the constraints of returning to school.
Eight weeks later, though, my mother would finally give me the signal that it was time. I’d scurry down to the basement and grab a Bell jar off the shelf. I’d run upstairs, turn the lid, pop the seal and inhale the comforting smell of vinegar subdued by large quantities of dill. Nothing could ever replace the glorious crunch of the season’s first pickles.
My relationship with my mother was similar. On certain days I loathed her. I hated that she always seemed to know exactly what I was up to, even before I knew. I hated when she called me out on my bullshit or gave me the advice I didn’t really want to hear, but needed to hear. I hated when she said no. And, I hated that she was always right. What teenager doesn’t?
I still hate the stringent smell of vinegar but love the crunchy goodness of a fresh dill pickle. And, to this day I love that all of the things I hated so much about mom, helped shape me into the person I’m proud to be today.
I know I’m not alone as I approach this Mother’s Day, missing and wishing mom was here with me to celebrate. But, if I look hard enough, I see her all around me. In the short 18 years we had together, she made an impression on me I’ll never forget. I’ll never take it for granted. And, I’ll never again underestimate that sometimes the things we despise morph into something amazing. I just hope others feel the same.
This Mother’s Day I’ll enjoy an extra crunchy pickle (or two) to celebrate this special day. Happy Mother’s Day!