Random thoughts of grandma

Today I was making a cake, using my favorite spoon to stir the batter, when it suddenly broke in half. The spoon had belonged to my grandma and wasn’t really special in any other way but associated memories are stronger than physical attributes. A white plastic spoon that had once had a shorter sister or brother spoon that was sacrificed to the great dishwasher heating element god many years ago.

It’s amazing the way the little things contain memories. The spoon reminded me of the holiday meals at my grandparent’s house, the way I’d watch as my mom and grandma would prepare the meal. It reminded me of cooked chocolate pudding cooled on the front porch until a skin would form, of a drawer full of tootsie pops. Of the time we spent there while we were kids, the time in the yard where there were always petunias around the birdbath, roses along the fence, ferns along the house and a hidden little space behind the garage where the yard waste was stored. There was a wishing well surrounded by lily of the valley.

And the house itself, the little pictures going up the stairs, the octopus furnace that took up a good portion of the basement, of my grandma’s green quilted coat, and the cigarette smell that was always there.

I took my grandparents for granted because they were just always there when we were kids. They were part of our day-to-day life, something I didn’t necessarily appreciate when I was a kid but do in hindsight. I savor the random memories that appear when I grab the bowl that belonged to them, the muffin tins, or the big container of buttons we played with as kids. The spoon was by far the most frequently used memory inducer and I’m going to miss it.