earlier this week, lil miss was looking for an after dinner treat. she reached into the refrigerator and lifted out a container of strawberries, ones that she had picked just some days prior. victoriously, she marched over to the kitchen island.
she had dropped the glass container and shards flew in every direction. i took the children away from the kitchen, but I had to pause for a moment to watch the dude pick up the pieces. and i had to bite my lip, to staunch the emotion.
it’s funny how memories are ingrained. this container, one of two, was one that my mother used to use. you see, my mother was an accomplished cook. no, she didn’t have any formal training, just the years spent cooking for herself and her family growing up and then cooking for her family of six.
she knew just what to make and how to make it. my goodness, that woman could cook.
i spent many hours in that kitchen, sitting on a little stepstool, chatting with her as she flew around the kitchen. i tried to learn a couple of times, but well, yeah. i was never fast enough with the prepping and when you have a large family, time was scarce. so, instead, i sat on the stool and we talked and talked.
inevitably, we’d have leftovers. and she would store them in these containers, among others. the times i’ve watched her fill those containers with delicious food, put them away, pull them back out, serve, wash, rinse, and repeat are countless.
i hadn’t realized that i had all those memories locked away until the container broke. in an odd way, i’m glad it broke so i could relive them. but, more so? i’m glad that i have its companion to keep these memories company.