Remembering Corinne, "...with one R, and two Ns."

"Do we have any of that mocha coffee stuff?" Brad asked.

I was just about to spread the frosting onto the triple chocolate cake I had baked the night before. I had made the decision to bake myself a cake for Mother's Day when I realized that I am always making this family recipe for people other than myself. I had also decided that I would make it with mocha frosting in honor of Brad's mom, since that was the way she would bake it. At least, that's the frosting she put in her personal family cookbook she gave to him back when we were in our 20s.

As I followed her hand typed instructions, and handed Brad the instant mocha, I thought about how mothers pass down family recipes. I remembered a time when we were younger, and she was still alive. She and my father-in-law had recently returned from a trip and we were making dinner for them at our home in Tacoma. I remember serving her ranch style veggie dip with an array of crisp, freshly sliced carrots, zucchini, mushrooms, and celery, when she spontaneously commented, "This tastes like home." 

It made me feel loved, that she felt at home before she was physically there. It was as if she was saying you are family, and I'm glad to be at your house. I had only been married to her son at that time for about a year, but I felt a part of the family that day. As daughters, we are always waiting for signs of approval from our moms, and she validated for me that above all, I had made her veggie dip as tasty as she would. And she was a great cook.

My fondest memory of her is at their country cottage in North Eastern Washington, at a place they called Skoog. It was Thanksgiving Day, and she had baked a turkey in the wood stove. I still marvel that she could bake with a wood stove! In any case, it was a storybook holiday, complete with a horse ride in the snow around their property. Brad's father took us out for about two hours riding over the frosted hills and through an icy creek before we got back inside to the scent of a perfectly baked turkey with all the fixins. 

I am so grateful that I moved away from my own family and close to her, back when she was in remission. I was really lucky to share that time near her home during her short life, as no one knew when the cancer would eventually win, which turned out to be about four years after that special Thanksgiving. Her life was too short! I only knew her for about 6 years. Today I pray that she continues to rest in peace, and that she feels the love and gratitude I feel today to have known and loved her.