NEDERLAND - My mother doesn’t share recipes with me, as cooking was never really her “thing.” But she would joyfully nurture my love for Thanksgiving, and for turkey, by making a delicious soup out of the leftovers. She would freeze containers of that soup and I would feast on it all the way through New Years. 

She may not have cooked but she spent a lot of time in the kitchen, reading a book, drinking coffee and smoking cigarette after cigarette. All my aunts and great aunts did the same; every one of them crossed and restlessly shook their legs the same way, talking, smoking, and laughing in kitchens decorated in yellows, oranges, and browns.

There were always treats on the table, when the adults enjoyed their kitchen time. Just like on Golden Girls, there was always cheesecake, Danishes, cookies, or ice cream. My mom and I were the same way - we loved to enjoy these treats with our coffee.

Our tastes were more decadent and chocolate-based than my stepfather's and sister’s favorites, however, as they liked sour candies, Peeps, and circus peanuts. Weirdos.

Another trait I picked up from my mother and from the ladies in the kitchen: sarcasm. The other members of my family couldn’t hold a candle to my mother and me when it came to ruthlessly undercutting any and every serious moment with perfectly timed and toned retorts. 

And though she enjoyed dry wit and intellectual ribbing, she loved chaotic goofiness even more. When I was young and Jim Carrey was the biggest comedy star around, the only person laughing as hard as I was in the movie theater was my mother. 

She likes to laugh a lot, as well as make up and sing ridiculous songs about people, just to embarrass them and entertain herself. I definitely get these things from her. Of course it makes it hard to have an adult conversation with her, whenever those rear their ugly heads, but stoicism was never my mother’s “thing” either, and I would never want to force that onto her. 

It’s much better to just keep on laughing.

She laughs at horror movies, too. I definitely didn’t get that from her, as I was terrified of horror movies until about 16 years old…mostly because she’d force me to watch them. Any kind of over-the-top violence would make her laugh until tears formed in her eyes, which is why movies like "Kill Bill" and "The Devil’s Rejects" will always be among her favorites. 

The only times my mother was “serious” was when she was angry. Another thing I inherited from her: a short temper. If you were to dare break her patience, you’d become a victim to an unnatural maelstrom of raw rage; those once-light sarcastic barbs becoming flying shards of glass from her mouth. 

I’ll always remember the time when she was walking our dog and, as the dog was doing its business off of the sidewalk, the woman who lived in the house that my mother was in front of yelled at her to pick it up. 

Now, I’m sure my mother was about to pick up the dog’s mess, as she always did, but, according to my mother’s retelling of the story, the woman was very rude and impatient with her. So, my mother decided to pick up the dog mess with her bare hands.

“You want me to pick it up, huh?! Well here you go!” She yelled at the woman, before proceeding to reel back and throw it at her. 

I may have a temper, but I’m not grabbing-feces-with-my-bare-hands angry…not anymore at least. 

My mother didn’t just switch from laughing to yelling, though; she was actually the most sentimental out of everyone in the house. She might laugh out loud at the sight of zombies being decapitated, but she would also always cry at the sad moments. 

And though she would bawl her eyes out whenever a dog was in danger, in life or on screen, and though she would often feel sorry for horror movie monsters like Pumpkinhead, it wasn’t just with movies that she would get emotional.

She empathized strongly, most likely beyond her ability to control, but she always felt for people and for creatures of all kinds. My sister and I both definitely got our ability to empathize from our mother. 

For someone who time has cruelly rendered so slight and frail, she was always so big. She was over-the-top in how she acted, in how she reacted, in how she listened, learned, and spoke. She saw the grand total of all things behind the smallest, seemingly-inconsequential details. 

And though her uncompromising bigness made for challenging times, it is what I think of and revere most about my mother, especially when thinking of her on Mother’s Day. I love her, for her and all of her “things,” whether they’re my things too, or not.