When I visit the post office to mail packages I have to struggle not to look guilty when they ask, “Does your package contain anything fragile, liquid, perishable, or hazardous?”
I personally have not mailed any such items but I must admit I did receive them, twice, from my mother—prior to the 9/11 rule being imposed, of course. Don’t get me wrong. My mother didn’t intentionally send me something that would blow up in my Coon Rapids mailbox on a hot summer day. It just kinda happened. Her heart was in the right place and I did call her and ask her for the item, I just never dreamed she would mail it.
What in the world? you might ask, what did she mail? My friend, she mailed me sourdough starter.
My mother has had sourdough starter in her refrigerator since 1971. (No joke, 38 years!) If you were to visit my mother this weekend I can almost guarantee you would be treated to her famous sourdough pancakes for breakfast. They are thin and delicious. (Even better with homemade maple syrup…) She mixes up the batter the night before and our mouths start to water because we know we will wake up to the smell of frying pancakes.
My sons are now at the age where they brag on how many pancakes they can eat in one sitting. Both are well on their way past eight pancakes before they groan and push back from the table. My husband is no better. He will sit and wait for plate after plate of fresh pancakes to pass under his nose.
You won’t believe this, but I have never sat down to eat pancakes with my mom in 38 years. She must stand and fry them two at a time at her gas stove. She wouldn’t have an electric stove if you threw it at her. “Can’t regulate the heat,” she says.
Don’t even mention an electric griddle; you won’t hear the end of it.
If you don’t have starter in your fridge or don’t know about sourdough, here’s the secret: to keep it going, you have to use it. (Kind of like exercise, use it or lose it.)
Well, I have lost it, more than once. In mom’s words, “You killed the starter again.”
She makes it sound like a homicide. It’s not her fault; she has warned me again and again. “Sandy, you have to mix it up at least once a month to keep it going.”
Well on that fateful day, I went to the mailbox to collect my mail and I noticed an odd smell coming from the metal box. I pried open the door and I was shocked to find the entire inside of my mailbox covered in white, doughy goo. I thought it was a prank.
Then I found the ruptured package and a sweet note from my mom, “Dear Sandy, I have kept this going for more than 30 years. Do you think you could shoot for an easy year or two? Love, Mom.”
It was like a shot across the bow. A warning….kill it again and next time it won’t be sourdough in the mail box, it will be boiled Easter eggs mailed to your office. (But that’s another story…I did say she mailed explosives twice didn’t I?)
In a big family the first child is
kind of like the first pancake. If
it’s not perfect, that’s okay, there
are a lot more coming.
Antonin Scalia
Leave a Reply