I love my mixer.
I love my mixer, not so much
because of the “what”, but because of the “with” and the “for”. I can make a pretty good cake, and yummy
cookies, but the best things that comes from that mixer are the memories. My
mixer is dependable, with good adjustable speed and timer, and a wide open top that
welcomes sprinkles of sugar poured from little girl hands and cups of flour
dumped by little boys in a hurry to have a taste.
The first snow of every winter I
call my little ones to my kitchen. Each one selects their own personal apron from the back of my pantry door. They duck their heads into the tops of their
aprons and I tie them at their little waists.
I pull out the footstool and set it before the kitchen sink. One by one my little Grands stretch up over
the counter edge and swirl their fingers under warm tap water. I squeeze some lavender soap into their
chubby little palms and they bubble it up then rinse it off. We move the mixer to my large granite island
and they squish together on the black wooden stools, their heads huddled over
the mixing bowl, their little voices calling out; “I speak the sugar”…can I put
the vanilla in?”…”when is it my turn, Gummy?” I flip my red cookbook open to the page with
the stained 3x5 index card. There on the
top, in my mother’s sacred handwriting: Gingerbread Men.
Scoop by scoop the spices mix
with the flour and the butter mixes with the molasses and soon the aroma of
ginger and cinnamon rises from the top of the bowl as it spins, like an
aromatic volcano spewing yumminess. When the dough is mixed just right we spoon
it into plastic bags, press it out into a square brown sheet, and set it on a
cookie sheet out on the front porch to chill.
After some play time, and maybe some mac and cheese, the dough is chilly
and firm. We clean off the island and
sprinkle a cup of dry white flour onto the green granite, pretending it’s the snow
that’s falling outside the kitchen window.
Sophie spreads it with her hand, writing little pretend messages in
it.
We dig the rolling pins out of the
baking drawer, coat them with flour, and lay them on top of the cold shingle of
dough. My treasures press their full
body weight into the rolling, but it takes a good sized Gummy to make it move.
Meanwhile, the other kids have taken the vintage Gingerbread Boy cookie cutters
and shimmied them in the flour along the edges. We cut and scoop and bake and cool
and mix soft butter with powdered sugar and good vanilla, topping the dancing
fellows with raisins. The frosting at
the hands of the littlest ones is not so lovely. I have to have a talk with myself and allow
it to be OK that those little cookie gents look like ragamuffins. It’s a blessed gingerbread boy that is used
to train little cooks. I tell myself
they should stand proud amidst those stuffy looking brothers with crisp white
shirts and tidy raisin buttons.
The taste is timeless: it’s the taste of my
childhood and the memory of my mother as a middle aged woman, and the scent of
my first real kitchen as a wife and the feel of flour caked on my apron where
my pregnant belly hits the counter top. Like
a gastronomical flashback my life comes together when my tongue presses against
the roof of my mouth and the raisin mixes with the frosting with the ginger and
the sweet.
One day, not too far from here, I
will yearn for little ones to call on a snowy November day. I’ll pull out my old dependable AEG with her
never-say-die motor and tie my apron on.
Maybe I’ll mix and roll and chill and bake by myself, just to keep the
tradition alive. I’ll box up those
little men and send them off to some missionary in some distant place, or some
college student, or working boy, or young mother who is too far away for
Great-Gummy cooking time. I will blow a
kiss onto the raisin lips of each boy and drive them to the post office. I
suspect that’s coming. But not today.
Not this year.
That mixer of mine was surely a
bargain. Beyond value. Priceless, I’d
say
I love your mixer. All that comes out of it and all who help make things with it!
ReplyDeletethat mixer has made for some really sweet moments with those kiddos who adore you!!
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