Good Girl

It wasn't my plan, but it turns out I'll be with my Irish mother for St. Patrick's Day.

It was almost time for my annual trek to the northern neck to help her makes gallons of potato soup and loaves upon loaves of soda bread for her women's club luncheon.

Because that's what good daughters do.

We'd originally scheduled the prepare-a-thon for Monday and Tuesday, at least until the weather forecast got potentially dire and she asked that we make it Sunday and Monday instead.

The clincher? Today is her birthday and you don't tell your Mom no, you won't help her on her birthday.My well laid plans for today went out the window.

So instead of wine, men and song for my Sunday, I woke up, drove east and spent all afternoon peeling potatoes, chopping celery and onions and making enough cheesy soup for 68 bridge-playing women.

Somewhere along about 3:00, I needed to escape kitchen duty for a while and headed out for a walk. The wind was sweeping in off the river, a plus because of the deliciously briny smell it brought, but definitely making the air feel colder.

Once I got away from the riverfront, though, it was perfectly pleasant and a satisfying change from the stuffy warmth of the kitchen.

I made a stop at Norwood Baptist church to see when it had been built (1887) and to snoop around its little graveyard. A couple WW I veterans, several Lifelong Norwood residents, a baby named Suzette who lived less than a year. The oldest burial was 1896.

Although my parents have lived down here for twenty plus years and I've passed that church every single time coming and going, it was my first time stopping.

Walking back down the road, I saw buzzards circling overhead, heard a woodpecker tapping away and smiled at the first person of my walk, a guy coming out of his house to get into his car.

"How you doing, beautiful?" he called from across the street. Pretty good, thanks.

Back at the house, the air inside felt incredibly hot and close after the brisk chill of the great outdoors I'd just come from. Break over, it was time to make my first loaf of soda bread before hanging up my apron for the day.

Rain began soon after. Mom told me that last night's moon had been so bright reflecting off the river that it illuminated everything within sight, not likely tonight given the drippy sky.

The birthday girl wanted Chinese food for dinner, a function, I told her, of her (a former city girl) having lived in the country for too long. Granted, the Chinese place is 37 miles away, no doubt a factor, but who wants takeout for their birthday dinner?

My mother, that's who.

Earlier today, I'd made her a coconut cake, her favorite, so we at least had that to look forward to after dinner. And I had the Sunday Washington Post to read afterwards, especially enjoyable because the entire travel section was devoted to Europe - food touring through France, Lisbon, Catalonia, wine making in Switzerland.

And tomorrow, I have more loaves of soda bread and a cake to bake for the ladies who lunch.

It promises to be quite the St. Patrick's Day. I intend to wear green.