My foremothers

April 25, 2010

Sometimes an action or an expression of mine will make me actually feel like someone else. I don’t mean out of body, but like I am impersonating them without meaning to. When I wore a swingy skirt with boots the other day, I reminded myself of a friend of mine I’ve seen wear that style a dozen times. Often though, my own actions in the kitchen remind me of my mom and grandmothers.

I feel like Grandma when I sit for a moment with coffee or tea with a friend at the table, then I jump up when I remember I am the one in the kitchen too. I turn down a boil or check on the oven and return to my friend happily. She does this in my memory with her bright eyes and generous smile in the beach house they built by hand on the Oregon coast.

I am Granny when I am wiping the table or placemats with a damp cloth or setting out fresh vegetables in small bowls. She still loves small bowls of a variety of things–candy, vegetables, jello, fruit, nuts. She told me one time when sewing, she tried to see how small she could make a stuffed plaything just for fun.

I am my mother more times than she or I believe. In the kitchen, I take on her persona when I’m digging around the cabinets for something, but I’m not sure what it is yet. A spice or a packet of something to strike me. We feel out the flavors tucked away for just the right time–for a rainy day soup or a sauce. Her favorites are raisins and rosemary (though not together, I don’t think). I like cinnamon and basil (again, not together).


One Response to “My foremothers”

  1. Mick Johnson Says:

    I’ve enjoyed reading about your 100 guests – wow – wish we could wrangle an invite! : ) But this post reminded me of our connection . . . a heritage of hostess-ing.

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