Tale of Two Tapes

Masking tape was her best friend.  It allowed her to fasten a message to nearly any object.  She loved things properly identified.  My mother-in-law, Evelyn, with the help of a black marking pen and masking tape, kept the world in order.

When cleaning and sorting are in the Things I get to do today,  history pops up in unexpected places.  Here in the bottom of a box jam jars not used for over a dozen years, I found Evelyn.  When I pulled one particular jar from the box to wash it, the stiff, adhesive-gone-gritty masking tape fell off on the counter.  Memories flooded back.  My name in her easily identifiable hand had been on one of the jars.  The bread-and-butter pickle label was still affixed to the container, filling in the details of the story.  She wanted to return what was mine.  Masking tape was the vehicle.

Ruth on the left.  Evelyn on the right.

But just last week during a serious cleaning of the chest freezer in the garage, Apple Sauce from 2003 showed up.  This was from my own mother, Ruth, a saver of all bits of edible produce on her property.  Waste not, want not must be inscribed in her at the cellular level.  Her favorite occupation, after weeding, is canning.  Freezing comes in third.  The masking tape on the recycled plastic dairy carton was fresh and gummy, belying its age.  The sauce was, however, ten years old.  We ate it for breakfast the next couple of days, remembering both mothers and their tales.