An Obvious Lifeskill

     Someone  commented on my article "Jello- Why I never touch the Stuff",  that my knowledge of the culinary seemed like "an obvious life skill". That made me think. I guess not everone was as fortunate as I, having been raised as I was, the sixth and final child of Appalachian (that's spelled H-I-L-L-B-I-L-L-Y) parents. My siblings were all much older than I. My oldest brother was in the Marines when I was born, and the closest to me was seven. By the time I was ten, my last sib had married and moved out, leaving Mom and I alone except for weekends, when Dad was home.Yes, every one of them married by the time they were seventeen. Did you miss the Hillbilly part?
   

     Dad was a journeyman  welder, a skill he learned in WWII, and thusly, getting us out of the hills, and into the big city of Columbus, Ohio. Unfortunately for him, that kept him out of town during the week, only returning home on weekends.Fortunate for me.  
 

     Mom was a fabulous cook, like most southern bred women, who had learned early on to make the most with the least. We always had a garden for fresh veggies, even after we moved to the city, they rented out a couple acre plot outside of town to grow their goodies. I thought Freezing, canning and preserving was a part of every kid's childhood. I grew up in Mom's kitchen. The family laughs to this day, that the first word I could spell, at three years of age was, "Philco", only I said P-H-I-L-piece of an O-O. This was in reference to our old Philco refrigerator. I absorbed her wisdom by the mere fact that I was always expected to help out. "You learn by doing" she always said, and you're never too young to learn to add a potato to a salty stew , test the doneness of spaghetti by throwing it on the wall, to  add "goodies" to jello only after it has set up a bit, and a myriad of other helpful hints. This knowledge, and much more were an inherant part of my upbringing. Those evenings alone with her are a treasured part of my memories . The little things she taught cooking dinner together every night are such a integral part of my being.
 

     Mom passed away at the young age of fifty three,leaving me utterly alone with a four month old baby, and in  an abusive relationship.I was the outcast in the family. Living in sin. At the time, didn't feel like I could turn to family, much less admit that they were right about my choice in mates. 
   

     When I moved out at nineteen,  I ended up with  a social phobic, among other mental illnesses.  He detested dining out, while I adored it. Consequently, if I saw a TV commercial for a new, special dish some restaurant was offering, I had to learn to cook it myself. Let me tell ya, Olive Garden has nothing on my Chicken Marsala. In my boredom, I devoured cookbooks, hoping that just once, my man would say "That's good",but in the twenty three years we were together, I never got more that a "that's adequate", even after third helpings of  some confection I had carefully prepared.
    

     Luckily, things have a way of working out. My abusive hubby passed away, and I am now with a man who utterly adores my cooking. Even when meals are no more than mediocre, he raves.My coworkers think I should open a bakery, called "Donna Duz Donuts". Maybe when I hit the lottery, and can destroy ever copy of "Debbie Duz Dallas" that exists.   My daughter has turned out to be a great cook, in her own right, and my son puts his wife's cooking to shame.

    Yes, I suppose culinary knowledge is an obvious lifeskill for me, just another part of my existance. Everyone should be so lucky.