Violets for the Soul

One might think of grief as an unlikely subject in a blog about joy. But in the sadness of remembering a loved one we’ve lost, the accompanying memories can offer comfort, peace and even joy. Such is the case today, which is the anniversary of my sister Marie Oliver Bond’s death to ovarian cancer, seven years ago.

It was Marie who reminded me some 25 years ago of how our mother, who passed away in 1990, would often pause to remark, “violets for the soul,” whenever some little something prompted her to feel joy and contentment. It was in November 1999, on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Our family had rented a bed-and-breakfast in our hometown of Groesbeck, Texas (population 2,498 when I graduated from high school in 1973). “Black Friday” never took off in our family — it would have been unthinkable to waste the time together fighting crowds at a mall. So Marie and I headed to a local antiques store and proceeded to poke around. Newly divorced with two sons, a dog, a household to run and a job to hold down, I was unaccustomed to having much free time on my hands. When I wondered aloud how I could possibly have just spent 45 minutes going through a box of vintage brooches, Marie replied, “It was violets for the soul.”

Fond memories of Marie center around family, food and fun. One that comes to mind was our annual childhood ritual of making Christmas cookies together, a full two-day process. We’d spend the first day baking, using Mother’s cardboard templates to cut the dough into angels, trees, bells and candy canes. The next day was devoted to decorating the cookies with custom shades of homemade icing, brightly colored nonpareils and gold and silver dragees. Marie’s cookies were works of art, much too pretty to eat.

It was clear from an early age that she had inherited an artistic bent from our father, a businessman and rancher whose hobby was creating abstract sculptures from mesquite trees, plaster of paris and other media.

Marie also had a dry sense of humor that surfaced at often unlikely times. One year, for example, I needed a dress for a fraternity party at the University of Texas in Austin. Marie, Mother and I drove 40 miles to Mr. Jack’s – “the” ladies’ boutique in Waco during the 1970s. Several selections into the process, I tried on a truly fabulous gown, looked in the mirror and said, “But I don’t want to be too elegant!” Marie laughed and suggested the saleswoman bring me a “slightly elegant” dress. We laughed so hard, and I still smile at the thought. From then on, everything was put to the “not too but only slightly elegant” test.

Marie was a wonderful mother to her son Russell, whom she described as the joy and light in her life. She loved music, books, travel, dancing, cooking, painting and crafts. She applied her special touch to countless one-of-a-kind creations for friends and family: an illustrated cookbook of family recipes for my wedding in 1978, dinosaur-themed sweatshirts for her young nephews, beautiful centerpieces and delicious dishes for family Thanksgivings and occasional catering jobs, meticulously detailed Christmas ornaments and decorations, stylish handmade jewelry (only “slightly elegant,” of course) and much, much more. Her loving and generous spirit continues to live on in our hearts.

Here’s one of Marie’s recipes from the family cookbook she compiled.

Nut Butter Balls

1 cup butter (2 sticks)
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups sifted flour
1 1/2 cups pecans

Mix butter and sugar until creamy. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Chill. Shape into 1-inch balls and bake at 350 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes, until light brown. Roll in additional powdered sugar while warm.