And the winner is...........Mom's flour sifter! I've been doing an informal intuitive test between my own flour sifter and the one from my Mom's house. I didn't really think I needed my Mom's flour sifter as I stood in her kitchen discussing it with my sister. My sister didn't want it. I wasn't sure? - it was a slightly different design than my own. So I brought it home and over the weeks I've been using it - then using my own - then using it. Tonight, after I used Mom's sifter, I was about to put it back in the cupboard when it occurred to me - no - I know already that this is the one. This is the sifter I want. I like using it - it has a design that feels good. Although my flour sifter worked and I never had any problems with it I actually have a preference for this one.
My mom cooked like most mothers of her generation. Since I came along so late in her life I have a lot of memories of her struggle with cooking. Her hands were always so sore and it was a struggle for her to prepare the food. I know she felt relief when my Dad would be away on a business or fishing trip because it gave her a chance not to have to cook. I also know she enjoyed cooking. It was sad to go through her pantry after she died because it made me realize how much she craved her own cooking and baking and how little energy she had to follow through with it.
I was making my grandmother's banana bread recipe tonight. This was the one my mother always made - it came from her mother in law. Now, it's the recipe I always make. Now I can make it using the sifter my mother used. When I realized that I had the urge to get out my camera and take a few pictures. There is something I really cherish about this fact that my mother held this sifter and baked with it. This thought hadn't really entered my mind when I was debating the merits of which sifter feels best. Now it seems so obvious that I wasn't just choosing a flour sifter - I was also energetically holding a memory. It seems as if my preference isn't so much about which works better but one of the heart and the hands the continuation of a mother's love.
This is my offering for the Sunday Scribble #52 read more stories by following the In the Kitchen links
