Thursday, October 26, 2017

I REMEMBER MAMMA


And ducked.


Mom was a perfectionist when she involved herself, she involved herself. For instance, the wooden spoon. Mom took purchasing a wooden spoon seriously. It had to be at least oak, long enough to catch a culprit and built to last.

Mom was not only fussy about the type of wood, but the grain had to run a certain way, the spoon portion smooth with the bowl bottom at its thickest. It needed to be aerodynamic and able to cut into space while she was in the chase.

Grip was critical, it had to be thick and tapered from the center out to either the end or toward the bowl, yet it had to fit her hand comfortably.

But her true test was when she applied it. I was the Bonneville Flats of Mom's wooden spoons, even after I married, she would come over, if she had a wooden box with a lid, not unlike a pool player with his own cue stick, and test it out on my head. We all got excited if it passed the test, well, not everyone.

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