|My 26 year old wooden bread spoon and the well worn wooden spoon I inherited.|
When I was first married I decided that I would master the art of bread making, so I purchased a "hippie" bread book and began my training in the craft. The book suggested that I needed a sturdy wooden spoon in order to mix the dough properly and anything else would not do, so I headed back to the "hippie" store where I purchased the "hippie" bread book and bought a fine wooden spoon. If you had to mix six cups of wheat flour into a cup or so of water you too would need the sturdiest of wooden spoons. My new wooden spoon, however, did not stop my first attempts at making bread from taking on the form and density of a large heavy brick.
Number One has a great sense of humor. He has had to endure many food tragedies during our 26 years of marriage. He has used his humor to encourage me to not give up on my natural ability to cook, but mastering whole grain bread has been a circus act at best.
My wooden spoon has only been used for bread making, so it still has a new look to it compared to my cherished wooden spoon from my "Other Mother", Number One's mother, who left us to be with the Lord in 2002. I have know idea how old her spoon may be. I know that it has been around since before I was united with my husband some 26 years ago.
It is well worn from use. I inherited it after Number One's father passed away last year. I saw it standing tall in the crock where it was held for so many years and it brought back many fond memories of meals shared with family and friends that I just had to bring it home with us.
In our family the kitchen is the center of the home. The act of sharing a meal is a very social event. It is a time to share the events of the day whether good or bad with everyone that is at the table. Sometimes the conversations would run into each other. The volume getting higher and higher with laughter from many stories going on at once.
I wonder just how many dishes it has stirred in it's lifetime? I use it daily to prepare our meals now. Every time I pull it out of it's crock from under the counter I remember the delicious food prepared by a wonderful beautiful woman who loved her family beyond measure. I remember preparing months of Meals for Number One's dad using this wooden spoon before it traveled home with us. We would visit as frequently as we could. During our visits "Other Dad" and I would sit and discuss the food he wanted to eat for the next month and then drive to the store to pick up the ingredients. We would enjoy a glass of wine while I cooked and taught him how to fix his favorite meals with the handy spoon by my side.
We miss them and thank them for the legacy of the wooden spoon that gives us frequent reminders of the love they both bestowed upon everyone who entered their home and shared a meal with them. I praise God for the blessing he has given me by being a part such of a loving family.
This is a poem that I gave to my "Other Mother" for mother's day one year. It is framed and still resides in their home to this day. I read it aloud to her to tell her again what she meant to me a couple of days before her death.
"To My Other Mother"To My Other Mother
You are the other Mother I received,
The day I wed your son.
And I want to thank you Mom,
For the loving things you've done.
You've given me a gracious Man,
With whom I share my life.
You are his lovely Mother,
And I his lucky Wife.
You used to pat his little head,
And now I hold his hand.
You raised in love a little boy,
And then gave me the Man.