I considered doing just that – working on my book. After all, this is my official writing day. Instead, I cleaned out the kitchen drawers that haven’t been touched since the Reagan era. Oh the treasures, and muck, I found. Some I kept, after a serious date with a sponge, hot water, and soap. Others I tossed.
I found the tiny coffee grinder that my best friend gave us a thousand years ago. No, we don’t drink coffee, but I used it when we entertained. I loved to pull it out and offer our guests their choice of beans. I loved the the smell of freshly ground coffee. It made me feel so yuppie and cool. I don’t know why I’m keeping it since we rarely entertain anymore, and the friend is a sad, long lost memory. Maybe I think this little coffee grinder will recapture the fun times we shared all those years ago and trigger something within my friend that it really is okay to still love me in spite that I’m not a born again Christian.
I found the two heart-shaped ceramic cupcake pans that we received at my in-laws’ Christmas drawing. I never used the cupcake pans because I don’t bake. Hell, I barely cook. They were adorable, and had I been a domestic goddess, I imagined these would have gotten some serious use. As it is, they became heart-shaped tombs for bugs that managed to find their way into our home – something that still grosses me out. Peering in at the tiny exoskeletons, I thought how fitting it all was. The cupcake pans represented a painful memory of just how life can take a heartbreaking U-turn. Oh, the irony. I’m tossing the pans, just as we were tossed out of their lives.
I had to scrunch into contortions I didn’t know my body could still accomplish without heavy drugs or plenty of tequila in order to drag out a hand-painted heart-shaped bowl. It looked familiar. Turning it over, it bore the signature of my daughter at the age of 11. She must have painted this with me back when I thought I had the DNA to paint ceramics. I don’t. I ran my fingers along the sponge-painted edges and smiled at how the past ten years flew by since she last touched the bowl. She was just a sixth grader back then. Now she’s flying off to
There were the usual inexpensive gadgets and doohickeys the kids bought us over the years, probably bought with the intent of yanking my culinary heartstrings. I never had the guts to tell my precious kids that I don’t own any culinary heartstrings, and I will never care that I can slice, dice, mince, and chop ‘til the veggies come home. After all, if they didn’t get a clue after I exploded a pan of hardboiled eggs on the ceiling, they never would. Bless their golden hearts.
One drawer was filled with matching towels and hot pads – all gifts from Mom and Dad. There no less than seven Christmas patterns, all of them still in their original packaging, and a set from
I never anticipated walking down memory lane, opening up so many emotions and memories. After all, I do this when looking at old pictures, not climbing through huge cabinets. It was a reflective way to spend the morning, and I’m almost glad the internet was down.