A couple of nights ago, we had meatloaf balls for supper—not just any meatloaf balls—Mama Sue’s. Dave loved them, and so did I. We’ll be raiding her cookbook again very soon. And I love watching the YouTube videos that I’m pretty sure her daughter, Amy, talked her into making.
My hometown friends know Mama Sue as Sue Strickland Garrett. That’s her in the picture, holding a spoon in her home ec class at Vincent High School in 1969—my first-grade yearbook. Back then, Sue was my hero (heroine?) We went to the same Baptist church, where she played the piano and organ and I dreamed of playing the piano and organ. Keyboards fascinated me from the time I was old enough to identify one. Learning to play was something I wanted more than anything else. And Sue did it so well. (Also, her hair flipped perfectly, which mine was too straight to do, and she was a majorette—probably the reason I asked for and received a baton, which I was never very good at twirling.)
Unlike many teenage girls who are talented and smart and popular, with perfectly flipping hair, Sue was about as kind and humble a young girl as you could ever hope to meet. She spotted my longing for music and invited me—ME!!!—to sit with her on the piano or organ bench when I was probably six or seven years old, maybe even younger. Before church started, she would remind me, “Now don’t play.” Of course, I wouldn’t. But I got to watch her play—and arrange her hymnals so that there was never an interruption in the service. In between songs, she would whisper little tidbits about music to me. We’d draw treble clefs on discarded church bulletins. Most important of all, she taught me how to separate the foil from the paper on a chewing gum wrapper, a skill I retain to this day. And I’ve been a church pianist most of my life.
Somehow, the meatloaf balls brought all that back to me—what it was like to be a young child, looking up to a teenage girl who made me feel like I mattered. I guess the separation from so many people I love has made me all the more grateful for them, for those who have touched my life, inspired me, nurtured me, shown me loving kindness.
Community is such a gift. Love and friendship too. Sharing good food is a way of expressing both. You can look for meatloaf balls underneath the Reynolds Wrap on my covered dish as soon as we can fellowship again.
Comments