The Oval pans
Since she brought them home from a trip to Spain, I have coveted the oval pans that hung in the kitchen of a friend. I was never clear on what I would do with them, actually, I only knew that they symbolized someone I saw as cosmopolitan and sophisticated and real-deal that Martha Stewart would some day strive to be.
She was my mother's best friend, first. We met when I was 15 and she was in her 30's. It was the early 1960s and the transition had been made from "convenience food" to cuisine, with a nod to Jackie Kennedy and Julia Child. Whacking a can of Pillsbury on the edge of the counter was no longer cool. Elegance, grace and made-from-scratch with "fresh herbs" and "wine" were the order of the day. She had five kids, and a "modern" house had a cool stone pond and a flagstone patio. My mother worked, but Betty sunned on her deck. While my mother broiled steak, Betty simmered soups that perfumed the whole house with miraculous aromas. She would transplant little trees from the woods behind our house, and then come home and make pizza dough when NOBODY even ate pizza, much less make it from scratch. This was New England, for heaven's sake.
Through the years, she traveled abroad, living in Spain for a time, and in Majorca. She toured sections of a country over weeks when everyone else was trying to squeeze 7 countries into 9 days. At home, she was the ultimate hostess, laid back, gracious, unrushed, with everything artlessly spectacular. I adored her, and I really think I wanted to BE her.
So today, when she took down the oval pans, and invited me to take them home, along with with 8 or 9 bags full of who-knows-what. I accepted them with more than a little awe. She is 80 now, and leaving soon for her new home in an assisted living facility. The huge old house where my daughter had her wedding reception is being dismantled, and I am suddenly conscious of several things.
I can help her by accepting things that are precious to her, knowing I will give them a good home, use them and remember her each time I do. For that I am thankful. Sometimes our belongings symbolize a huge part of who we are.
I also now realize I don't want the damn pans to hang anywhere but from her pot rack, over her stove with the pot of continuously simmering sauce or soup. I owe her so much. She was my mentor, my own dear friend for decades, and her home is the last vestage of the time that will never come again.
She was my mother's best friend, first. We met when I was 15 and she was in her 30's. It was the early 1960s and the transition had been made from "convenience food" to cuisine, with a nod to Jackie Kennedy and Julia Child. Whacking a can of Pillsbury on the edge of the counter was no longer cool. Elegance, grace and made-from-scratch with "fresh herbs" and "wine" were the order of the day. She had five kids, and a "modern" house had a cool stone pond and a flagstone patio. My mother worked, but Betty sunned on her deck. While my mother broiled steak, Betty simmered soups that perfumed the whole house with miraculous aromas. She would transplant little trees from the woods behind our house, and then come home and make pizza dough when NOBODY even ate pizza, much less make it from scratch. This was New England, for heaven's sake.
Through the years, she traveled abroad, living in Spain for a time, and in Majorca. She toured sections of a country over weeks when everyone else was trying to squeeze 7 countries into 9 days. At home, she was the ultimate hostess, laid back, gracious, unrushed, with everything artlessly spectacular. I adored her, and I really think I wanted to BE her.
So today, when she took down the oval pans, and invited me to take them home, along with with 8 or 9 bags full of who-knows-what. I accepted them with more than a little awe. She is 80 now, and leaving soon for her new home in an assisted living facility. The huge old house where my daughter had her wedding reception is being dismantled, and I am suddenly conscious of several things.
I can help her by accepting things that are precious to her, knowing I will give them a good home, use them and remember her each time I do. For that I am thankful. Sometimes our belongings symbolize a huge part of who we are.
I also now realize I don't want the damn pans to hang anywhere but from her pot rack, over her stove with the pot of continuously simmering sauce or soup. I owe her so much. She was my mentor, my own dear friend for decades, and her home is the last vestage of the time that will never come again.
posted by Linda | 9:49 PM
2 Comments:
~ tears streaming and I'm sobbing, first good cry of the day is out of the way though ~
Me too. You should send this to her, or bring it up when we go back again.
But, all that said (and true), I'm glad Grammy GAVE me her ring...instead of left it to me when she died. SHE told me she got it for graduating HS, then gave it to me when I did (well, she hid it well from robbers and couldn't find it immediately, but I got it soon after. ;o) (Sorry J~ sore subject) Means so much more to be that she DID put it on my hand.
I think you'll feel that way about the Oval Pans...someday.
In reading this post, I must add that the irony there was that she would go garden, transplant trees, and THEN go make pizza cuz it was the best way to get the dirt out from under her nails, with the dough.
She had to tell you after you were down to the last bite too. ;o)
She probably invented the "5 second rule" as well.
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