"Me Making all the Pies for the Holidays" Rhode Island, 1978

I spoke to my mom tonight and she was ready to go with a topic. She said she had been thinking of many. She started to suggest something fun that families can do together and that started her talking about cooking together.

"Maybe baking cookies, chocolate chip or peanut butter? Maybe baking a pie? How about... me making all the pies for the holidays?"she asked.

"Great idea!" I told her.

My mom was the best pie crust maker in our family. She made all the holiday pies until she lost her ability to stand long enough to roll the crusts. My dad helped her for a few years and even took over for a while. I tried twice—after years had passed since she rolled a crust—to have her instruct me.

The first year we tried to make a crust together, my mom and I used a bad can of Crisco. It had been left in the cupboard probably since the last pie she made. I was not aware of the age of the Crisco, my mom on the other hand "did think it smelled a little funny, but figured it would be fine." We served our chocolate cream pie that Thanksgiving and immediately almost everyone knew that something had gone horribly wrong. I turned to my mom for some explanation and she said something to the effect of, "I was worried about that." At which point my brother-in-law looked up from his empty pie plate and asked "worried about what?" My sister quickly razzed him, "You didn't taste anything funny about the pie?" Needless to say, my sister, dad, and I are much better about checking dates on food now.

The next time my mom and I tried to make a pie together was for Christmas. I relied on my mom for the recipe. We got the pie to my aunt and uncles, I was very hopeful—after all I bought the new Crisco myself— as my Nonnie, who always did the pie cutting and serving, went to cut our pie first. She suddenly looked to me in a panic as she absolutely could not get the knife to go through the crust. I got very mad at her for not "trying hard enough." It took my trying to cut the pie myself to accept our failure, and apologized to my non. My mom and I had forgotten one ingredient—water.

Don't worry though, my most recent pie crust experience was a success. I made it with my 4 year old. We signed on to allrecipes.com watched an instructional video and got an actual recipe. I spent much time thinking back to the disfunction of my first two pies, pre-internet.

Now back to my mom. I asked her to tell me more about her ability to make a delicious crust. Here's what she said.

"I didn't learn to make a crust until I married your father (age 21). I had cooked meals for my whole family growing up by age 10 and was always a baker, but I never tried crusts. Your dad used to make 50 thousand pies when he worked with his dad at Valley's." (Valley's Steak House, was by the airport in Warwick, RI. My grandpa Edge was the baker there, my dad a baker and grill man, my mom a waitress, and her mom, my non, a waitress/hostess/matchmaker. It's there that my parents met, there that my dad asked my non for my mom's phone number and there that my mom said to her mom, "don't you ever give that guy my number." The rest is history. I ate there before they closed it down and actually have a visual memory of the kitchen and my grandpa baking there.) "I thought if your dad could do make a pie so could I," she continued. "And so I tried to make a crust, he came home from work and found me with a crust that wouldn't cook and walked me through all he knew. It took me a while to get good, but I finally got the feel of it and then it was really easy. I made all the pies for the family on the holidays because my crusts were the best. My crusts tasted great because I used Crisco and not lard."

As for this little illustration, I have a photo on my desk of my mom, my sister, and me. I'm maybe 4. I used this photo as a guide to my mom's face. I put her in my favorite shirt of hers, the grey bunny shirt, and as I painted it, I saw how young she was when she had me, how gorgeous, how passionate about a clean house and delicious pies. I understood as I did when she was in the hospital last year, how much her presence ads to my parents' house. She was not a playful mom when I was young, but she was always busy making a stable environment for us. In the painting she is maybe 26, 10 years younger than me right now, and yet to me, I will never be as old as she was then and I'll also never have a brown fridge.

"Your Bathroom"

When we got on the phone tonight (Saturday, September 12, 2009, I'm late posting) my Mom was happy. She was out of her depression, as I had hoped was happening with her talking the night before. She was telling me how bad it's getting talking to her Mom, my Non, who has Alzheimers. My Dad joined in from the background to explain, "There's a lot of 'you knows' and 'the things.'" My Mom burst out laughing. "We are so getting so bad." she laughed.

My Mom's short term memory loss from her MS and my Non's word loss from the Alzheimers, make basic communicating hard. I talk to my Mom almost every day and my Non 3 times a week. Their brain illnesses manifest very differently in conversation.

I asked my Mom if she had ideas for the project. She said she had thought of one during the day, but she forgot to write it down. I asked if she wanted to think of a new one. She was more than happy to.

"Maybe something about missing you, I know we already did that, how about your bathroom?"

"My bathroom?" I asked.

"Or your house? I don't know what it looks like where you live. I know you've sent pictures, but I can't picture it." she explained.

I liked the idea of the bathroom, so I painted my favorite one, without all the stuff on the counter, the way I like it.

Rainbow Wish

When my Mom gets depressed she gets quiet and when she talks her voice is small. When she is starting to come out of her depression she starts to talk a little. Tonight, she began our phone conversation in a small voice, almost rambling. It was comforting to hear her thoughts without pause, I much prefer it to silence.

"I'm so bad." she started. "I've got to get out of this depression." "I hate this disease. I've had it for so long." (over 40 years) I'm lucky I'm still walking. But I can only do 2 laps I used to do 10 but when I'm depressed I don't push myself."

We talked about the cruise our family took when I was 16 and she could still walk. How while on the Island of Haiti, on the walk back to the boat from lunch, she got so over heated that she suddenly lost her ability to walk. My Dad had to carry her a long way and it was very hot. I can picture it in my mind and would have painted it tonight, except I thought to ask her one more time, for a topic for our art project, after weeks without one.

I heard her hesitate and then like rain after a Texas drought.

"Ummm, she said in a whisper, "a rainbow is ...is that it? a rainbow in the sky, a sign of life going on, sign of god, rainbow coming up, god's with you shining over you in his rainbow. my neck is cramping it's my personality right now dad says he'll do all the worrying, I have something to worry about I can't walk, I can't do crap, I'm numb in my hands, I'm numb in my feet, I'm not a normal person, I'm getting fat and I haven't been on the scale."

"Coffee not Chocolate"

My Dad is home from the hospital. My sister and her 2 kids were staying at the house this week, while my Dad recovered. I spoke with them everyday, it sounded like a hard week for everyone. I had thought we might go to help, but didn't in the end. My daughter is still packed and ready (her decision). My Mom and I did not work on the project last week, there was too much going on.

I finally spoke with my Mom today about the project. She is depressed again, 16 days after the end of her last tour. She said that she is always depressed, which is not always the case, but when she is down she can't be convinced otherwise.

I could not get a direct art request from her. Somehow though, we started talking about chocolate.

"I don't like chocolate." "I know most women do." "I must get it from my father, he doesn't like chocolate either." "I'm not a chocolate person (insert yuck face visual here, I know she made it, even when I can't see her). "I like coffee better."

"Maybe I'll paint coffee ice cream?" I said.

"That sounds good." she said

This painting shows exactly how my Mom orders her ice cream, small in a cup with a sugar cone on top. My Mom's M.S. has taken away many things, one thing is eating ice cream from a cone, but that doesn't mean, she can't get one on top.

Later in the night I called back, and told her I posted the coffee ice cream painting, my Mom added, "Coffee is a Rhode Island thing."

She makes an important point. They make coffee syrup in Rhode Island for your milk. So in school you could get a plain, chocolate, or coffee milk at lunch, and at Burger King you can order a Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, or Coffee shake. Most families keep a bottle of "Eclipse" coffee syrup in the fridge. Frankly, the rest of the country is missing out.

"Get Well Soon"

On this night of the "mom collaboration," my Dad was in the hospital. My Mom wanted to go see him but there was no way to get her there (they are short on hands with me in Texas). My sister had my Mom write him a letter so she could bring it to the hospital when she went that night.

The painting is my take on their imposed separation. My Dad is represented by the medical bed and my Mom by the wheel of her wheel chair.