Memories... and spoons...

Spoons. Yep. Spoons.

My family has a long-standing obsession with spoons. Wooden, metal, plastic, it doesn’t matter. It’s the preferred eating utensil in my house, and we have an extraordinary amount and variety of them.

When I was growing up, my mom had particular spoons for different dishes. I grew up knowing which spoon to grab for rice, which one for meat, and which one for discipline, ha! And I knew not to bring the wrong one, lol.

My girls often reminisce about the “discipline” spoon. A thin wooden spoon that one could wield when necessary, though it rarely resulted in a smack or two to the palm for whatever the infraction was. But it could instill fear pretty quickly. For years, they believed it was always the same spoon. But these cheaply made spoons never lasted long, often cracking, splitting, and getting stuck in a drawer. I found a piece of one of those spoons broken off in my kitchen drawer recently. When I pulled the stubborn piece out, both girls burst out laughing and yelled, “THE SPOON!!” For them, it wasn’t a memory of discipline, but instead of their grandma, who would send them for the spoon, holding it all while lecturing them. That was my mom’s thing. She would talk, tapping the spoon on her palm while telling the reasons that were wrong, dangerous, etc. EVERY TIME. They continued to chat and giggle about different times at grandmas, and the things they got in trouble for.

When my mom died, I decided to keep only a few of her kitchen things. So now, my best friend has THE spoon. This particular spoon is a stainless steel perforated spoon that was used to dish out rice dishes, which were always plentiful. This past Christmas, I brought over a pot of West Indian rice and peas to her house, and I naturally grabbed that spoon to use. In that moment, I realized it was the exact combination of pot and spoon that I had grown up with into my adult life. The memories that came flooding back brought me to my mother’s house, and me being a child again. All from merely holding a spoon. The gatherings, holidays, and dinners that surrounded us with love and warmth. Such an intense feeling brought me to tears.

To have someone in your life that loves you so much and makes you feel safe is reassuring. Sharing that person with family and even friends is a fulfilling life experience. I am grateful to have had someone teach me the joy of cooking, how a meal can brighten a day, and how giving can mean so much.

We don’t have to work hard at creating memories; they’re just a part of us. We create moments of love merely by being ourselves.