Virginia O'Farrell's Tuna Casserole

Today marks eight years since we lost our Mom.  It seems much longer some times, and other times like it was just yesterday.  I still want to pick up the phone to call her, and then have to remind myself that I can't do that anymore.  That's always a tough realization.  I used to call my mother pretty much every day.  Now and then, when a particular day had been difficult, she'd intuitively know, asking "What's the matter?" which, of course, found me disintegrating into an emotional puddle, when only a mother's words could understand and help.  On the other hand, she was a very funny woman and made us all laugh, often.  She used to brag about her "10-beat flutter" in swimming, or that she earned "best legs" in high school.  She used to reenact her cheer-leading moves in our kitchen.  My mother hated being referred to as "she" and would say, "Who's she, the cat's mother?"  I often hear her words coming out of my mouth.  Almost every day, I say something and realize that it is hers. Often, I don't know what the phrase means; I just know it's right, fits, seems appropriate, and works.  The other day I said someone was "fit to be tied."  Now really, what does that mean?  It's a mom-ism, and I will devote a future blog post to such gems.

I credit my mother with my love of cooking.  It's not that she loved it so much herself; she didn't, but she was so enthusiastic for my efforts, encouraging me all the way.  There are little things I will always remember, including her advice, "Clean up as you go" which has made cooking much less a chore than it might be.  The other piece of advice was "Make sure you have all your ingredients before you start."  This, after she had to run to the grocery store mid-recipe to get something for me,  like cornstarch or vanilla extract. 

I've written before about the tuna casserole my Mom used to make for us.  We loved it.  It was a simple recipe with canned tuna, canned mushroom soup, and Pennsylvania Dutch noodles.  She never added peas, cheese, or other things I've noticed other recipes call for.  Hers was simple and very, very good.  I've never given you the recipe, so today I share it with you.

Virginia O'Farrell's Tuna Casserole
(I love you, Mom)

2 cans tuna, drained and flaked (she used Chicken of the Sea)
2 cans Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup
1 1/2 soup cans of milk
1 bag Pennsylvania Dutch Noodles, cooked and drained
salt and pepper
Plain bread crumbs
butter

Buttered casserole dish - a large one

Stir together tuna and soup until well combined.  Add milk and stir until very well combined.  Add a few shakes of salt and a few shakes of pepper.  Dump drained noodles in casserole dish, stir in tuna/soup mixture.  Make sure it is all mixed together well.  Sprinkle the top with bread crumbs.  Drizzle with a little melted butter.

Bake at 350 degrees F until it is bubbly and the bread crumbs begin to brown. 

xoxoxoxox

November 10

November 10

My mother Virginia McGeehan O'Farrell was born this day in 1918 in New York City. She used to say she was born on Armistice Day. My mother was the fourth of six children, born when her mother Loretta was 42 years old. She was raised on Liberty Avenue in New Rochelle, New York. A grocery store now stands where their house was located. My mother often spoke fondly of her childhood in New Rochelle. She was close with her siblings and cousins who were just like siblings. She graduated from Blessed Sacrament School and after school worked on Wall Street. She was voted "best legs" in her high school class and used to brag that, on her swim team, she had a killer "ten beat flutter." Her sister Jeanne was just eleven months younger than my mother, and they were always the best of friends. They grew up in a time of greater social formality, noting that they'd never go in to New York, or to visit a friend in the hospital, or even go out to a movie without dressing up. It was a glamorous time during their coming-of-age years in the 30s and 40s, and there are beautiful pictures of my mother and Aunt Jeanne that attest to that fact. And it was a magical time when she met my father and fell in love. The Jimmy Dorsey band played at their engagement party. My parents were married in 1942, raised seven children and moved often. With each move, we were aware that our family was its own community and that we would face new challenges together.

There are many days throughout the year when I am reminded of my mother. After she first passed away in 2002, every day was filled with nostalgic remembrances. Seven years later, there are often moments when I am touched by her memory. Some are spontaneous and unexpected; others are deliberate efforts not to forget.

In my earliest memory of my mother, I see her from across the room, her dark hair framing her face so beautifully, her big blue eyes twinkling, and a huge smile directed right at me. I must have been a very little child, perhaps even a baby, but I still remember the joy of that moment. It came back to me with my own children, and now my grandson when, before there are words, there are connections that create a life-long bond. It is one of the most vivid memories of my life.

I miss my mother today. I want to call her up and say "Happy Birthday Mom!" I want to bake her a special cake, like I do for so many people to whom I am not so nearly attached. I want to tell her my joys and hear her happiness for me. I want to tell her my troubles and hear her words, "It will be alright." I want her to know Henry and to share grandmotherly wisdom.

I see my mother's face reflected in my daughter Meghan. I hear her voice when I speak with Aunt Jeanne. I realize her challenges as I face my own, some the same but some very different. My mother was a stay-at-home Mom with a husband who loved her unabashedly. He'd cradle her face in his hands and say the most affectionate things. There was no doubt that he adored her, and she him. I don't have that permanence in my life. As a divorced woman and a single mother, my life has taken a very different route, yet I benefit from witnessing my parents' love for each other. It gives me hope that my own children will experience long-lasting and nurturing relationships like their grandparents. It is a different world but I think there's room for that in their lives. Like my mother used to say "I'll say a little prayer."

Happy Birthday Mom!

Photo: Jeannie Eddy