Family Heirlooms

When my mother was sick recently—so sick we all thought she might die—she mentioned some pieces of family furniture she wanted to make sure were passed to me. Luckily, she got well and is now at home using her furniture herself.

But this afternoon while making gingerbread men with my son Brandon, it occurred to me that the items of my mother’s that mean the most to me have already been in my possession for many years. Her set of heavy glass mixing bowls, faded pink in color and decorated with a very retro design of some indistinguishable fruit or vegetable, were passed down to me when her remarriage (when I was twenty) led to my striking out on my own. One bowl is big, one is little and they both have handy pouring spouts. I use one or the other practically every time I cook, never without remembering all the times I saw her use them.

My mother—though she was a working woman of the 70’s with a wretched, evil husband, an elderly grandfather in residence, and me—put an awesome meal on the table every night. I had to grow up to realize the talent and creativity that went into that, not to mention the energy.

I’m glad to have been able to have her pink bowls for so many years. Using them now enables me not only to look back at my mother’s life, but also to view my own at various stages: I made tuna casserole in the big bowl as a single girl on a budget, I mashed up sweet potatoes in it the first time I hosted a family holiday as a young wife, and now I mix gingerbread dough in it to entertain a child. The years go by so fast.

When I’m gone I might expect my kids to want to keep copies of my written work or valuable items (like there are any) from my house. But wouldn’t it be special if one of them took the pink mixing bowls home and used them to prepare meals for their families, and thought wistfully, as I always do, “I remember Mama using this all my life.”