Stirred down

I was making dinner a week or two ago for our friends Jan and Jay, when I reached for a certain spoon in the drawer. I choose this particular spoon whenever I am cooking something special or cooking for people for whom I feel a special love.

This spoon once belonged to my grandmother, who used it so much she wore it down. My mother called it "stirred down." I never knew my grandmother, because she died when my mother was a young girl. When I stir things with this spoon, I think about my mother stirring with this spoon, and I know she was thinking about her mother stirring with this spoon. In this way, I can bring them both to me as I cook.

My mother told me stories about spending time around her mother cooking, including one about her singing (repeatedly) to her mother the 1925 hit  "Tie Me to Your Apron Strings Again." Her mother lost patience, eventually, and if you follow the link you may get some hint as to why that might be. She hugged my mother (a little girl) and proceeded to tie my mother to her with her apron strings.

I have my own memories of watching my mother cook, none as dramatic, nor as musical. However, I can call up how to roll out a pie crust, and beat and stir batters, simply by envisioning my mother's hands going through those motions. When I was a new cook, this was especially helpful.

Now, when I hold this one spoon, which has been in my mother's and grandmother's hands, they are with me, even as I am preparing a meal I will eat with living loved ones tonight. It fills me up, and I fill the food with this feeling. Maybe I should rename this post "Stirred up."