Circles

On Tuesday, when I went down to get the glut of mail that always follows a holiday weekend there was a box for me sitting in the lobby. Slightly smushed and weighing a good deal for its size, it had my name on it, jotted out in my Dad’s familiar chicken scratch. I carried it upstairs and opened it, half excited and half a little wistful. I knew the box contained items that had come from my Grandma’s old house, the house she moved out of when she moved into an assisted living facility.

Carefully I moved the paper around and pulled out the prized object, the one thing I’d told my Mom I’d be honored to make room for in my house. Belonging to my Great-Grandfather, it is rather unassuming in its presence.

A copper bowl. Old, and dinged but worth its weight (in copper I suppose) the copper bowl has magical properties when it comes to whipping egg whites. My great-grandfather had been a chef, a pastry chef, and this was his copper bowl. It was used in making countless pies and cakes, cookies and doughnuts. It is worn and smooth and has a place of honor in my kitchen. It will be used lovingly in my house around the holidays, to whip the filling for my Dad’s favorite chocolate pie, for the cookies that I send B to the office with in December, for soufflé and meringue.

I never met my great grandfather, but I like to think he’d be proud of my cheesecakes and my lemon bundt cake. I hope the memory of me using that beautiful copper bowl to make holiday treats is one my (eventual) children have, that one day they will clamor over who gets to take the bowl to their kitchen, for their children, to watch egg whites froth and foam and become the part of something so delicious it can only be made once a year.

The other item in the box is equally utilitarian and sentimental. My Mom’s father was an amateur photographer, and wrapped up in newsprint was his tripod. He passed away when I was three, so he never got to photograph his eight grandchildren or 1.5 great-grandchildren (my cousin has one on the way!) but perhaps I can do the job for him. With the amount that technology has changed, it amazes me that his old tripod, stamped with “Made in Skokie Illinois” (he lived in California), fits my brand new DSLR perfectly.

As I dusted it off (but apparently not my floor….) and slowly moved the mechanisms. They can use a good oiling, but all in all, it is a beautiful tripod, not like the silly plastic ones you find today. I smiled a little, and then thought of these items in my Grandma’s house. Watching relatives age is difficult and messy, heart wrenching in its role reversal and boundary pushing. I sighed, and cleaned up the newsprint, half heartedly thinking that maybe Grandma would come out for the holiday’s one year, to see the old copper bowl doing its magic one more time, creating an airy, chocolately pie filling poured over graham crackers and butter.

But if not? I can take a picture of me making the pie and send it to her, with a little help from her husband. And that seems like a good consolation prize. And until the holidays roll around, I’ll be busy creating some cooking “how to” videos (with the help of my new old tripod) to share some of my tricks and tips with you. I think I’ll start with whipping egg whites. Stay tuned….