Bittersweet

All I know about entertaining, and most of what I know about life, I learned from my mother.

She was a terrific cook and fearless organizer, famous in our family and small town for hosting dozens of guests at every holiday, or birthday, or random Tuesday night. She made it seem effortless.

Enjoy your guests, she taught her daughters. Don't sweat the small stuff. Attitude is important, and you determine your own. Soak stains in cold water. Don't worry about dirty dishes until everyone has left. Leave the relish tray on the table during the pie course.


A year ago, as we do every year, my extended family gathered at the QueenBee house. As we do every year, we ate ourselves into a stupor, laughed at jokes that weren't even remotely funny, and hugged every time we had a chance. As we do every year, after dinner we took pictures.

I don't normally post pictures on FaceBook, but I shared the one above of my parents and siblings. "Look!" my little sister commented on it. "You're surrounded by people who love you."

It was the last time we would be together. A month later, on Dec. 29, Mom fell and suffered a traumatic head injury. She died the next day. I can't even count the number of blessings that surrounded her passing, and I'm sure in the next few months I'll be writing more about those. God was in control, from beginning to end.

Still, I'm a little wobbly for this Thanksgiving. It's the first one that I can't ask Mom to stir the gravy, or if the potatoes are too salty.

She's in every corner of the day, and I miss her.