About my Mother

Carol Hamill Callaway
4/18/44-1/08/98

My mother, Carol Hamill Callaway was a great cook. Taught to cook as a child by her grandmother in Texas, she drew on not only French and Southern cuisines but also those from her world travels. As a child, I was irked to have to always eat a green vegetable along with a main entrée and a side starch, all made from scratch. When she was feeling healthy, dessert would be fruit salad. But on magical nights, there would be pie.

I blame my mother for my intense sweet tooth; hers was even stronger than mine. She had a delicate touch with pastry, and always knew the right balance of seasonings and flavorings. From her I learned the power of food – not only the beauty of feeding people you love, but also the ways in which food can bring people together, forming community. So it appropriate that this project in honor of her rests on a foundation of food.

But my mother was much more than a cook. A lifelong scholar, she was an artist, a teacher, a curator, a writer. She returned to graduate school at 40, earning her PhD in pre-Columbian art history. Her work as an art historian centered on the intersection of indigenous iconography in the facades of the Catholic churches of Oaxaca, Mexico. At Dumbarton Oaks, she took fierce pride in caring for the pre-Columbian collections and working with her fellow scholars. My own love for art is rooted in the hours I spent by her side drawing, or watching her take pictures. She needed no accolades or recognition for it, only the quiet time of reflection and observation that art gave her.

But above all, my mother was a friend. In the years since her death, many many people have told me that she was an important connector in their lives. Not only did she stay in touch with childhood friends, helping them in turn to stay in touch with each other, but also she made friends easily, and took great pleasure in bringing old and new friends together.

When she was sick, those friends rallied around her, coming out of the woodwork to support her in ways she never could have imagined to ask for. They did everything from bringing meals to dealing with insurance paperwork. One friend came weekly with cheerful movie rentals. Another organized colleagues to make a get well quilt. They went to doctor's visits with her, and helped her deal with the emotional burdens so that she didn't have to burden my brother and me. Her friends allowed me to focus on her, rather than a million details.

My mother's legacy is rich and varied. I carry her spirit inside me in so many ways, known and unknown. And I know if she were here now, she'd tell me to stay in touch with her friends, and to be sure to have a delicate touch with my pie crusts.