Do You Smell It?

Do you smell it?  NO?  Let me help you...coffee... chocolate... chicken and lemon with garlic...now do you smell those scents wafting from my kitchen? 

Okay, I confess.  Yesterday I baked a batch of mocha brownies simply to have a reason to turn on the oven.  It was cold and damp in the flat.  This IS England, so of course grey skies and rain are normal.  To help remove some of the condensation that collects on the windows, we open the windows.  Hence, the cold in our flat that led to a desire for a hot oven. 

Recently I’ve been sharing my kitchen with some very special people.  This sharing and teaching is a joy to me.  Relationships are built in the kitchen—relationships between mothers and children, sister-to-sister, two best friends.  There is something about creating good food together that creates a bond. Sharing my cooking skills with others eager to learn excites and motivates me. 

Miss JD & Miss VL

                        Miss JD always enjoyed my butternut squash and sweet potato soup.  Although I had e-mailed the recipe to her, it didn’t prove to be a successful result for her.  She asked for a tutoring session in my kitchen.  As we discussed setting a date, Miss VL mentioned that it sounded like fun.  The three of us agreed on a date that worked for all three of us—a Tuesday evening.  We chatted and bantered while I gave instructions and they peeled, chopped, stirred and then blitzed the lovely orange soup, seasoned with cinnamon and nutmeg.  Well, we enjoyed it—cooking and talking—so much that we decided to do another session.

The next lesson was for making American buttermilk biscuits.  I’d made a batch and took them to our Hillsong Connect group.  Both JD and VL were keen to learn how to make them.  Little did they know the mild trepidation that rippled through my brain.  The tall, light and fluffy biscuits I took to group had been the best batch I’d made to that day.  I could only hope that when we did it together we’d get a good result. 

Hot and ready for you!

On the night, I pulled out my copy of The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook  We read the recipe and I told them to shift the flour, baking powders, and baking soda together twice.  And the results were marvellous!  What a great smell!  What joy!  published by Hearst Books, Copyright 1980.

The other thing that happened was that we had a meaningful conversation about singleness.  As a woman who had not married until age 44, I believe I have a solid platform to discuss the struggles and conveniences of singleness.  The warmth of the kitchen, the informal setting, and trust establish through friendship created on opportunity for openness and sharing.  All that is motherly in my heart was allowed to flow.  We’ve scheduled another session—and I’m looking forward to our evening of cooking and sharing together.  

In the meantime, the smell of coffee is wafting into my office from the kitchen.  It is time for a cup of java, and of course a brownie to go with it.  

Apron strings and other "ties that bind."

     Apron strings often get a bad connotation because people refuse to cut them.  Is it the fault of the Apron Strings?  No--apron strings just help you keep your apron on.  And let me just go on record as saying, as messy as I get in the kitchen, those strings are very important! I have one functional apron right now...so I guess I need to get organised and put my sewing machine to good use.

Grandma Cox

     One of my favourite aprons was made by the Grandma Cox from an old cotton flour bag--a single piece of material with four rounded corners, a hole in the top, so that the apron went over the head and the back ending at waist level, a button on either side with which to fasten it.  She had appliqued flowers on the front, sewn on two pockets and trimmed it with purple edging.  It is very clear there were no strings from which to detach one's self.  ;-)  However, each time I wore it, it connected me with my heritage, reminding me of someone I love dearly.  

      Part of growing up--at least for my sister and me--was spending time with our grandparents over the summer,  during our school holidays.  An annual tradition began in the year 1970; we both spent a week in Bloomfield, Indiana with Grandma Cox--my mother's mom.  

Granny (Shilkett) Hildebrand

After a couple of weeks at home, we spent another week at Gramps and Granny Hildebrand's--my father's mother and step-father.  They lived in Rantoul, Illinois.  As we got older the visits lengthened to two weeks long--and each of us girls going by ourselves.  

     

     Grandma Cox had limited mobility--so I can remember washing windows, running the vacuum, and doing things she couldn't.  But Grandma was a really good cook--and she taught me how to make pie crust, home-made egg noodles and let me experiment in the open-plan kitchen.  As we sat on her back porch, looking out over the neighbours houses, the train tracks and the old ice house, I'd ask her about her life growing up as an orphan.  She was raised by her Grandmother Russell.  We built a relationship--and history wasn't a subject for school--it was living, fascinating.  

     I spent a lot of time wearing aprons at Grandma's house.  And I brought that home with me...growing to love home-making, cooking, sewing and crocheting.  These "emotional apron strings" didn't "tie-me-down", but rather bound me securely to my sense of identity, heritage and created the confidence I needed to become the person God created me to be.  

     By the time I'd had my "second 18th" or 36th birthday, I realised that my game plan was to marry a man who'd already had children and then become a grandmother.  And that is exactly what happened.  So, although I was dubious about having Grandson M & K for a week (18th-24th December 2010), I was also looking forward to continuing a tradition from my childhood with my step-grandchildren. 

     I thought back to the things that I did with my grandmothers, hoping to determine how to best spend this opportunity with them.  From times in the past when they'd stayed over-night on weekends, I realised that having a focus and planned activities was important.  My first few Christmases here I'd made an effort to have the grandchildren, who were old enough, over for a day of making Christmas cookies.  The purpose was to make memories with them, spend time with them--getting to know them and not only make them feel special, but make Christmas special too.  

     Though I didn't immediately recognise it at the time, this week-long opportunity was a gift to me.  Another  dream was coming true--spending time with some of my grandchildren the same way I'd spent time with my grandmothers.  We put aprons on...until the smaller apron's string  ironically broke!  Grandson M even prepared butternut squash soup for dinner one evening, with me supervising.  He's 13 now...and so he's at a good age for learning life skills that will serve him later as an adult.  

    More than once during our week together, I felt a lump rise in my throat.  I wasn't in Slough, but rather back in Bloomfield, Indiana, cooking with my grandmother.  The love I felt for my grandsons was being braided into the "apron string" that linked me to the love my grandmothers had for me.  I was investing into them those skills and experiences that had been invested into me.  I felt a supernatural sensation of timelessness--the present moment and eternity all in a single moment.  

     Not all apron strings are bad.  Sometimes those strings need to be picked up and passed onto the next generation

Serving Jesus, Author of our faith.