There are days when I just want my Mom. Now, truthfully, that's every single day and every single minute. The only reason I can imagine not wanting her to be in that kitchen right beside me is that this great loss of my son would just destroy her. They had such a bond. He forever called Mom his warrior. So on my "I need a hero" days... I reach for her solid, rose handled spoon and hit the dough with her fierce spirit. My mother could fix almost anything. If she couldn't, she had a guy... (Daddy!) and I knew I really only needed to get to my parents' front door, and I had it whooped. So here's her spoon.
Or I might need my Gramma Minnie... She was my unconditional love lady. I really could do no wrong in her eyes. What a relief that always was... Now most days I feel as if I could do nothing right... So most of the time, I'll admit this is the spoon of choice. My gramma could whip up an apple pie or cabbage rolls or just about anything a person could imagine. She was less than five feet tall, but I wouldn't want to tangle with her either. Even her silverware was "no nonsense" although she was pure magic.
Then on days when I just want to get things done... I choose my own first set of silverware, purchased long ago to complete my life and serve my little family. It was and it quite serviceable and just the thing for an ordinary day. Those were the kind of days that Emily couldn't stand when she visited Grover's Corner in Our Town.... It broke my heart when I first read that play as a junior in high school, and it breaks it again and again when I think of those lovely ordinary days.
And finally, my great grandmother's dear old silver spoon... worn and full of patches that have lost their luster. She was alive during the Civil War... She was the great great granddaughter of Daniel Boone's mother. She flew through the back woods of Indiana to gather embers to restart her fire while panthers screamed and her chestnut brown hair flew out behind her.. Candace was the life breath of my Gramma... She called her Mommy... to her dying day. I think I let them all down as I am the last of that family line through those women. ... Good bet I won't have other children at seventy years old, so we all will be gone. So today I chose her spoon to stir up my cornbread and wave through the big pot of vegetable soup. I love to wash dishes... and who wouldn't? I am touching the past.
A salute with a wave of the kitchen spoon to my mother, my Gramma, .... and to the once-ago me... Here's to Candace Valera, the mother of us all.