Oldies but Goodies
Amongst my mother’s belongings was a ratty old drawstring bag that held a few old pieces of costume jewelry. The bag was filled with holes, but the bag itself was filled with memories. I remember my niece coming to visit me and asking about her grandmother, my mom. She said she wished she had something of hers to hold on to. She and I both missed my mom. So I gave her this ratty old bag. It was not the bag itself that was of value but what it stood for. It was a bag my father had bought to her from his time in Korea. He had filled it with mementoes for her of his love for her. Decades later all my mom still had was the bag. It was ratty and worn, but mostly from her holding on to it and feeling the love that had bought it to her.
My niece now has that bag and it is of no use to anyone but her. It is a memory of a woman we both loved with our hearts and souls. A woman, my mother, who never wanted her to run barefoot when she was a toddler. A woman who birthed me in her heart when nobody else would give me a home. A woman who taught me to love others unconditionally and to treat everyone with dignity and respect.
I no longer have my mother’s bag, but my kitchen is filled with memories of her. Like her tea server and her Pyrex bowls and casserole containers. I may not use them as often anymore, but their mere presence brings back memories of times in the kitchen with my mom. My son talks about the memories he and I have created in our kitchens. Like the time I taught him to bake cookies using those same Pyrex bowls and we made dishes together using my bakeware and my mom’s. It is not about the products, it is about the memories they represent.
We all have things which trigger our memories. We hold on to them, long after the people and places are gone. Having my mother’s bakeware around makes me feel loved. It reminds me of how she taught me to cook and bake. It reminds me of how she sat me on the floor with a pot and a spoon when I was a toddler and told me to stir. It reminds me of the mother daughter dates we would have around food. Like sitting on a blanket on the kitchen floor drinking club soda out of a wine glass and eating bagels, lox and cream cheese that were just for the two of us. The kitchen for me, is a place my mother and I bonded. It is where she taught me valuable lessons about life and the spiritual messages from food.
My son and I have created memories together using my Pampered Chef. My stoneware is no longer new and is well seasoned. He remembers the meals, not the equipment. He remembers making lasagna with me, not necessarily the rectangular baker, although he still remembers it. He remembers the garlic cheese bread and fighting someone for the last piece, not that it was made in our fluted cake pan. It is the memories which are invaluable. Hold on to those memories. What we hold on to may become tattered and old, but the memories will stay with us forever.
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