Wistful Thinking

(by Deborah K. Shepherd)

Author's reading

I’m on the phone with my sister. At 74 to my 78, she is my touchstone when memories of our childhood fail me. My brother, who was only nine when a massive heart attack felled our father at 46, leaving my mother in unrelenting grief, doesn’t remember much from when our family was intact.

I’m trying to recall what we ate—or rather, what our mother cooked for us.

I have a manilla folder labeled “Family Recipes”—there’s Grandma’s chicken soup, Aunt Toby’s chocolate mousse, Aunt Honey’s butter cookies, a coffee cake from an old family friend, but only one recipe from my mother, copied in my hand on aging yellow paper: “Mom’s Cabbage Soup.”

But there’s something about the recipe that doesn’t ring true, even though I’ve made it countless times, and it’s always delicious, sweet and sour and unctuous from the marrow bones that were the whole point, as far as I was concerned.

“We were always well-fed, Deb,” assures my sister.

“Yes, I know, but I can’t remember ever cooking with her, or her cooking for us.”

“We had grilled cheese sandwiches when we came home from school for lunch.”

“And I remember the Campbell’s Tomato Soup that went along with them.” I am hopeful. Perhaps this is the gateway into Mom-cooked meals of the past.

But then we’re silent, remembering that the hands that wielded the can opener, buttered the bread, and grilled the sandwiches in the cast iron skillet were not her hands, but those of a string of nannies employed to care for us while our psychiatrist mother saw patients in her downstairs office. (She was the first in her family to go to college, was one of two women in her medical school class, and was the only mom in the neighborhood who worked outside the home, let alone had a profession. Nevertheless, none of that counted to my younger self, who might have traded it all for a pan of homemade brownies.)

And then we are off in a reverie of nanny-made delights.

“Remember Barbara’s trifle?”

“Yum. And Leonore’s plantains?”

“And Geneva’s southern-fried chicken? I can still taste it.”

“Wait,” my sister interrupts the list. “She did make that veal thing for dinner parties, remember?”

And I do. Veal Rollatini suddenly springs to my consciousness, and I see myself in the kitchen with my mother as she pounds the veal, layers the pieces with ham and pillowy mozzarella, rolls them up, and secures them with toothpicks.

“She was so proud of herself,” says my sister. And then she is quiet. Are we both remembering the admonishment that this culinary triumph was for guests, not for us?

Finally, I bring up the cabbage soup, hoping my sister can shine a light on why the recipe doesn’t seem quite right.

“I do have one recipe of hers in my file. It’s labeled ‘Mom’s Cabbage Soup,’” I say. Perhaps this will unlock a treasure trove of recollections: Mom with a flour-dusted apron tied around her waist, handing us the chocolate chip cookie batter bowl to lick; coming downstairs to Mom-made pancakes and bacon on Sunday mornings; birthday cakes she stayed up late to lavishly decorate.

But it’s all wishful (or wistful) thinking.

“Something about the recipe doesn’t seem quite right,” I add.

There is a beat, and then another.

“Oh, Deb,” sighs my sister finally, “don’t you remember? Daddy made the soup.”

---

Deborah K. Shepherd is a retired social worker who lives in Maine and is surprised to find herself an author. Her novel So Happy Together came out from She Writes Press in 2021, and her forthcoming memoir, An Old Man’s Darling, will be published by Heliotrope Books in 2026. Her essays have been published in the online publications Herstry, Motherwell, Oldster Magazine, Persimmon Tree, InShort Journal, Fauxmoir, and 50 Give or Take. Her Covid-themed piece was a winner in the 2020 Sacred Essay contest sponsored by the Center for Interfaith Relations. She can be found on Facebook and at deborahshepherdwrites.com.

Mom’s Cabbage Soup

3 T. oil

3 - 4 lb. meaty marrow bones

4 onions, sliced

1 medium head cabbage, diced

28-oz. can whole tomatoes

2 t. salt

freshly ground pepper to taste

2 T. sugar

3 T. vinegar

boiled potatoes

Heat oil in a large pot and brown marrow bones. Set aside.

In same pan, brown onions carefully, then add cabbage cover until golden brown.

Add tomatoes and enough water to cover.

Add marrow bones, salt, and pepper.

Simmer several hours.

Add sugar and vinegar.

Simmer at least another half hour.

Serve with boiled potatoes on the side.