Mothers teach us many things: how to nurture, save money, drive a car, do multiplication tables and can beans.
On Mother’s Day this Sunday, we pause to think about our mothers, even though nice folks do that every day.
I spent a long time thinking about the best thing my mother, Yvonne Brayton, who lives on Camano Island, taught me. Besides showing me how to make the best garlic dip in the world, she taught me how to work.
I had the luxury of staying home for five years when my second and third children were toddlers. Even though I didn’t have to work, I combined the stay-at-home mommy job with delivering newspapers and selling freelance stories.
There was something satisfying about having my own paychecks rolling in. My mother taught me that. She turns 82 this month and still has a part-time job.
When we lived above a butcher shop in Shoreline, my dad cut beef, and hunters unloaded wild game from the back of pickups at our locker plant door. Dad sliced and sawed through rump roasts and steaks, while Mom did the wrapping.
Each bundle of ribs or hamburger was first enclosed in plastic wrap, then butcher paper. She had a way of tucking in edges and rolling the package just right. Next came Aurora Cold Storage tape to seal the package.
Her daughters tried to learn how to wrap meat as a side job when in high school, but it was hard to duplicate the expert’s perfectly twisted folds.
The best part came last. Above mother’s head were dozens of rubber stamps. She knew the exact one to grab, with decades of experience, selected the marker and pounded the stamp in red or black ink, then pressed the label on the outside of the white package.
No one could miss if it was sirloin steak or chuck roast when they pulled a package from rented storage units in our locker room.
One of her other jobs made me the proudest. In between stints as a scout mom and running us to piano lessons in Mountlake Terrace, mother registered folks to vote. She set up a table in the butcher shop lobby and made sure every customer was ready to cast his or her vote at the polls.
That was enough of a job, but on Fridays and Saturdays mother was a store demonstrator. You know, like the folks at Top Foods or Fred Meyer who serve bites of toast with jam or teensy cups of chunky chicken soup.
Mother would go to Ballard, Lynnwood or Mount Vernon to serve samples of Oroweat bread, root beer, Danish cheese or frozen pizza. Her two daughters and son couldn’t wait for Saturday night, when Mom would get home with some of the goodies.
It wasn’t always fun for her. Sometimes, they would put her table in front of the frozen foods section. Her legs would freeze all day. She tried to get good shoes to stand in for eight hours, and always matched her pretty-colored sweater to her fresh apron for a professional look.
There was always a lace fabric hanky tucked into the sleeve of her sweater.
My mother was highly sought after in the industry because she had a unique technique. While you were tasting your lasagna or fish stick, she put the product in your basket.
What a concept.
After my folks sold Aurora Cold Storage, they managed an apartment and mother worked the counter at a dry cleaners.
Mother also was successful at a home business. She ironed other folks’ clothing, four bits a shirt, for years. If that doesn’t teach the value of a dollar, nothing will. When I gave birth at age 18, mother baby-sat so I could go back to work full-time.
These days, she never misses a Mariners game on TV, but she doesn’t just sit there. She crochets. Need a blanket? Call my mom. Don’t try to catch her if the sun is out, because she’ll be gardening. She gave up her job as manager at Second Chance Thrift Store on Camano Island a few years ago, but she didn’t retire.
Mother stocks greeting cards at a grocery store.
That’s my inspiration for getting to my job every day, through snow, headaches or cranky moods. Mother is a hard- working role model who doesn’t have to suggest to anyone that they walk in her shoes. She demonstrates by example.
Through all of her jobs, she also kept a spotless home.
I wish that had rubbed off.
Columnist Kristi O’Harran: 425-339-3451 or oharran@heraldnet.com.
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