Special Note: Before I go on with this week's column, I wanted to take a brief moment and share a word on Donald Couch, a Lucky Lake resident who lived to the ripe old age of 103 years before passing away just a few weeks ago. Mr. Couch served in the Royal Canadian Air Force in World War II, deploying to India and serving with the 435 Squadron. It would be his service to his country that would be honored in February 2018, when I was invited to Lucky Lake in order to cover Donald's 100th birthday party. I'll never forget the image of that big bomber plane barreling over the village skyline in tribute to this Veteran, and the smile on Couch's face couldn't be removed for all the money in the world. Rest easy, Sir. You've earned it.
We now resume our normally-scheduled programming...
I talk to myself. I've done it for years and years. As long as I can remember, I've been having "conversations with the universe."
I was over in Rosetown one afternoon last week and I began thinking about a specific topic, and soon those thoughts turned into actual words spoken aloud. Evidently, I had so many thoughts on this certain topic that it turns out I had driven from place to place in Rosetown, and then driven the 50-something clicks back home.
On that note, let me ask you this: what foods bring up all sorts of great memories for you?
Depending on the household, it can be said that certain foods or dishes conjure up all manner of memories for us. They may be great memories, they may be difficult ones, and they may even be sad ones, but it's all from the same spoon - we associate food with moments in our lives. And why not? When something incredible has happened, we celebrate by going out for an extravagant meal. When we're healing from pain, be it physical and/or emotional, we're comforted by others with dishes that are filled with homecooked food. When the big game is on, we're thinking about inviting friends over and having THIS with a side of THAT, making sure our bellies will be taken care of and full by the time it's over.
Food is such an integral part of our daily lives, even if sometimes we don't realize it.
But I can tell you that I most definitely associate certain foods and certain recipes to moments in my life, whether it was a very specific occurence or something rather general.
In our family, Mom was the chef. She was, without a shadow of doubt, a master of the culinary arts. The woman could do absolutely no wrong in the kitchen, she was that good. Give her a day and she could craft a meal you'd remember for months. Give her an hour or two and you'd still be dining on something that was hearty and oh so delicious.
I can still vividly remember the taste of her cooking, no matter what was being served. The routine was largely the same. I'd get up in the morning, hit the shower, get dressed, grab my laptop bag and camera, and be on my way out of the house. Mom would be in the kitchen, sitting in her chair, either reading a book or browsing on her computer. "See you tonight," I'd say. "Okay, love ya," she'd reply. Enter the work day, where it might be comprised of interviews, note taking, traveling here or there, or whatever else. I'd pick Brendon up at his work at 5:00. We'd get home, and upon opening the door I'd get a smell, a waft of a certain something being prepared. I'd step up from the landing into the kitchen and I'd realize what was cooking away.
It might be chili and rice, at which point I'd smile and know I was in for something good. It might be baked chicken, garden potatoes and veggies, at which point I'd be thinking that Mom was in an exceptionally good mood. Or it might be spaghetti and meat sauce, at which point my stomach would pretty much be jumping for sheer joy.
Some weeks, the kitchen would fall into a bit of a routine, wouldn't you say? Certain days of the week were when the cook in the family would bust out the special chops, and on other days, not so much. Take the mid-week, for example. Tuesday to Thursday might be when you'd have something a little easier to cook up, like Hamburger Helper or throwing some frozen fish out of a box into the oven, but weekends were when Mom would truly shine with all of the classics she could produce.
Her roast beef suppers were epic in size and taste.
Her chicken dishes always hit the right spot in the stomach.
Her buttermilk biscuits were the stuff of absolute legend.
It could be a so-so day at school or at work, but when Mom was in the kitchen, it was always a safe bet to say that whatever was coming out of the oven or off the stove, it was going to make the rest of our evening better.
I can remember a good day turning into a great one because Mom made something spectacular. I can remember a bad day ending on a good note because Mom's nourishment from the kitchen touched my soul. I can remember starting a meal while feeling sad about things, but the goodness that came from Lynda Ruttle's cooking hit a certain nerve, and I started to see the light at the end of a dark tunnel.
On Tuesday, September 28, it will be six months since Mom left our world. Half a year already. It blows my mind that time has shot by so utterly fast. On that evening, I plan to conjure up a special roast beef supper of my own that I can only hope will do her memory justice. Fingers crossed, Ma!
Do something for your heart and soul (and stomach) this week, friends. Make something that Mom used to make for you. It'll hit all the right parts, I promise you.
For this week, that's been the Ruttle Report.
