A spoonful of love
By Mary Sharry
Sun contributor
The spoon, a sturdy one, was the kind she’d use to stir batter for a yellow cake, swirl yeast in a mixing bowl or dish up turkey dressing into a covered dish for Thanksgiving dinner. Stainless USA was imprinted on the back of the handle. It was probably purchased at the Ben Franklin Five and Dime where Grandpa bought most of her kitchen utensils. Grandma didn’t care for shopping for such things, and Grandpa had a knack for finding various kitchenware – Pyrex baking dishes, small glass custard cups, a special pan for poaching eggs – so a couple spoons, being practical, were added to an assortment of items in the top drawer of her Hoosier kitchen cabinet.
After Grandma and Grandpa passed on and my mother was sorting through various items from their home, I asked for the two matching dime store spoons. They were nothing special, but they held a world of memories for me, and through the years they served me well. For my children, I mixed batches of chocolate chip cookie dough with the spoons, dished steaming mashed potatoes onto plates and even stirred up dumplings for Sunday chicken dinners, just as Grandma did.
Years later, for a community potluck, I contributed a favorite dish of mine, rice lentil Polou, a recipe from my well-used, torn and tattered, Laurel’s Kitchen cookbook. Rice, lentils, tomato paste, sunflower seeds, raisins, cinnamon and salt went into the casserole which I took to the park for the potluck.
It must have been that most folks weren’t impressed with the appearance of a bowl of rice and lentils, especially when there were elegant platters of deviled eggs, spinach dip in bread bowls, steamed corn-on-the cob, goulash and tuna noodle casseroles to sample along with the usual Jell-O, pie and cake desserts. When the sun was setting and the gathering of people thinned, I retrieved my casserole dish. It definitely wasn’t empty. Although I was thanked for my contribution, it seemed that Polou lacked epicurean appeal. When I inquired about my spoon, my grandmother’s spoon, no one seemed to know about it. I was shown an assortment of ladles and kitchen servers that were unclaimed, but Grandma’s spoon was not among them. ‘Maybe it will show up later. We’ll let you know,’ I was told, but I never heard about nor saw the spoon again.
Luckily, like Cinderella and her glass slipper, I have the matching spoon that was Grandma’s. It’s in my kitchen drawer and I use it almost daily. Probably no one realizes why I choose this dime store spoon over others and even feel protective of it. Because the spoon belonged to her, Grandma, as always, will be part of this year’s Thanksgiving.
