One Valentine’s Holiday, I was in a hurry as I stopped by my
mother-in-law Marjorie’s house. Expecting to be only a couple of
minutes, I left my own mother waiting in the car and ran in to grab
the gift and go.
One Valentine’s Holiday, I was in a hurry as I stopped by my mother-in-law Marjorie’s house. Expecting to be only a couple of minutes, I left my own mother waiting in the car and ran in to grab the gift and go. But once I was inside the house, my mother-in-law had other plans for me. She began by showing me the avocados and lemons she had picked for me from her trees.
I was very appreciative but explained that I was in a hurry.
“I have a candle I don’t want,” Marjorie suddenly seemed to remember – so she had me sit down to wait while she went to get it.
“You’ll need something to carry it in,” she says as she brings out an old coffee can, but then decides the candle needs to be wrapped in something protective first.
“I’ll go get the bubble wrap,” she says, and disappears into the pantry where she keeps KFC Styrofoam containers, pie tins, pickle jars, baggies, brown paper sacks, and rewashed squares of foil. Ever since losing everything and being interned during WWII, she has been unable to get rid of a single thing that might still have a use. It drives her husband nuts.
Meanwhile, I am thinking about my mother sitting out in the car in the dark, waiting for me. I feel anxious to get going.
Finally, my mother-in-law returns with bubble wrap and meticulously wraps the candle from top to bottom in several inches of it. Then she puts it into the coffee can.
Just as I am thinking, “Ah, I can get going now,” Marjorie discovers a sharp edge on the inside of the coffee can. “This could be dangerous,” she warns.
I can’t believe it. I wait while she searches for the right tool and then begins to work at smoothing the can. Finally, I think the candle is ready to go.
“You need a bag to carry it in,” Marjorie says and researches her pantry to find just the right bag. Now that the candle is wrapped well enough to survive a journey by covered wagon over the Rocky Mountain Range, rather than a 25-minute drive to Gilroy, I think I can leave at last. Silly me…!
Just as I stand up, she says, “We need to cut some camellias for you.”
“Camellias?” I ask in confusion. “Yes, they’re beautiful right now,” she insists.
We go outside with scissors. I’d probably appreciate their beauty more if it weren’t pitch black. “We need flashlights!” Marjorie decides.
We end up searching by flashlight for just the right red camellia blooms to cut. “This one!” she exclaims, as she runs her hands along the branches of the six-foot tall bushes. “And this one!”
As I finally get everything loaded into the car and slide into the seat next to my mom, I say, “You could have come inside, you know, mom.”
“I know,” she says.
“I’m sorry we took so long,” I apologize, “But Marjorie just kept thinking of one more thing. It’s almost like she’s trying to keep me there. It drives me crazy sometimes.”
I should tell you that when I describe this to my Japanese-American friends, they just laugh and nod in a knowing way.
That night my mom quietly listened to me complain about my mother-in-law but didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then she asked, “Do you know how many people would give anything to have a mother-in-law like yours?”
As usual, my mom put everything into perspective. My mother-in-law is gone now, but I still have that coffee can and a great Valentine’s Day memory.
