Her Special Things

Because my Mother viewed herself as different from everyone else, special and more important, she liked to have things that were just for her use. She didn`t like using things that my Father and I used for all manner of contrived reasons, her favorite was that she was delicate and prone to catching germs and somehow managed to infer that my Father and me were not as particular as she was. 

She had separate soap which she kept in a plastic box in the bathroom cabinet so no one else used it. She even had a separate bottle of denture cleaner from my Fathers too. She had her own towels, pretty pastel florals just for her. I was to use the blue, brown and green striped ones with my Father. She had her own pillow cases, different from my Fathers, it did not matter they were mismatched. Most things in our home clashed garishly, both patterns and colours, as she was never in the same mood twice when she shopped I suppose. She had her special chair in the lounge which no one would ever dream of using, complete with her cushions.
 The kitchen though was where things got serious. She had a particular fork that was hers and hers alone. The same with her dinner plate, tea cups and a couple of mugs. She had a separate butter dish from mine and my Fathers, this was because she was a Celiac and there may be a rogue breadcrumb in the dish, even though she would risk a normal biscuit or cake from time to time....a breadcrumb however may be fatal !! She would bake herself little fairy cakes with her own flour though I hardly ever remember her baking cakes for Father or me. She would occasionally bake one to take to visit her generous and indulgent brothers, partly as a prompt to receive a bit of pocket money in return as she would call it, often a wade of notes so hardly pocket money, handed out after she had explained how very short we were. She had her own sugar bowl and spoon and liked her tea stirred with that particular spoon. Looking at an old photo recently I noticed there were two salt pots on the table which reminded me that she didn`t like the salt grinder as she found it too difficult to use and so had her own salt pot which we were then discouraged from using as our hands may be greasy and she did not want it making all sticky ! 
 There were also food items bought because she liked them. Cottage cheese for instance was bought for her to eat, I liked it but was only allowed a little very occasionally because that was hers.

Naturally she had gluten free bread and biscuits on prescription but anything that she could have, like pink wafer biscuits for instant were bought but no one else was allowed them, why two packets were not purchased, one for the biscuit tin {often empty} and one for her, I don`t know. She had the best of everything, the leanest ham, the firmest tomatoes, she cherry picked over everything first for herself. When we had fish and chips, the fishes were compared and she had the biggest, thickest one for herself, declaring she could not eat the batter because of the flour so it was only fair. I rarely was allowed a fish and usually had a fishcake or sausage but if I did have a fish I was expected to give her half in exchange for some of her batter. I loved a pickled onion from the chip shop but if I asked I got "Oh Amanda you don`t want one of those stinky things" because she didn`t like them. Frequently I was told I didn`t want something as a way of saying I couldn`t have it. Crisps were another controlled food. She hated the smell of cheese and onion so they were strictly prohibited. I was allowed plain or roast chicken. She like plain or salt and vinegar, the latter I thought smelled just as strong as cheese and onion and I didn`t like them, despite this she often tried to press me to have that flavor because she liked it, a classic example of a narcissist seeing everyone as an extension of themselves. I`m greedy with cheese and onion crisps to this day as I was always denied them. My Father often bought himself some scratching`s but when she found out I loved them too she banned me having any with the excuse I had fragile teeth. The same teeth she never encouraged me to brush. Because she herself could not eat pastry, meat pies and pasties were never bought, another thing I longed for and have been greedy with in later life.

Which brings me on to Pork Pies, another strictly rationed favorite of mine. We were at a wake with my Father`s family one time and as appreciative comments were being made about the lovely cold spread laid on, my Father noted the pork pie was very good. "Of course I can`t eat the pastry" came the whiney voice of my Mother "So at home I have the meat and Geoff has the pastry"....stunned silence. Then my cousins wife, utterly astonished, snorted with laughter, she clearly did not get the rules of play with my Narcissistic Mother, and declared loudly "Oh that`s hardly fair". Completely caught out and shamed my Mother wrung her hands and scowled like a scolded child, her expression darkening with every passing minute. She seethed all the way home, repeating several times she`d "Never liked that nasty little Madam ". I on the other had was secretly delighted that Mother had got a taste of her own medicine for once !

Sweets and chocolates were never readily available in our house. I bought a small amount with my limited pocket money and made them last as long as I could. She on the other hand always had her stash. She hid them away or kept them beside her bed to enjoy while she read her library books before a nap or bedtime. She also had a supply in her handbag. She favoured Mint Imperials, Murray Mints, Toffees, Rowntress Fruit Pastels and my favorite Jamesons Ruffles. I stole one in a sweet shop once and when we got outside she saw it in my hand. I was marched back into the shop where I was made to give it back and say sorry with her in full actress mode, full of graciously earnest apologies in a posh voice and declarations of how appalled she is as I had been bought up so much better than that. When we left she was glowing from the supply it had given her and the buzz she got from her performance, so much so that she never even thought to scold me about it. 

As previously mentioned she would sometimes trawl the bottom of her bag to give me a few old and escaped sweets. When I was younger I wondered why the wrappers were so hard to get off and why the softer ones were very hard or the boiled sweets were tacky and soft, she would smile at me, watching intently while I struggled to peel away the stuck wrapper. I felt something wasn`t right but as this was how things always were I failed to see she was relishing me being thankful for some scraps she no longer wanted for herself. On the very rare occasions I was offered one from a new packet she would make out she was being kind and giving me a treat but as I took it she would snap coldly "Only one, thats enough or I`ll av none left".

After her death, when I was given her personal possessions I recall there being a handful of stale, cheap boiled sweets at the bottom of her handbag. I held them in my hand and gazed at them, I felt quite sad she had ended her days with this pitiful selection, even if years ago she would of gladly given them to me when they reached a point were they were deemed too stale for she herself to eat.