Little Green Box

My kitchen isn't very big and, thus, I have very little storage space. If you were to look in my cupboards, there isn't much in there that I don't use regularly because I simply don't have room for extra stuff. (To put it in perspective, my crockpot is currently being stored in our bedroom because there isn't room for it in the kitchen.) Still it's the usual assortment of dishes, pots and pans, and pantry items.

However, if you were to sneak a little deeper peek, you might just find a small olive green tupperware container and a small tan box with a bumpy clear lid.  These are oddities in my kitchen because I've yet to use anything in either container since I got married.  Even before I got married, these two small boxes were often dust collectors in a box under my bed. I think I've used them about three times since they were given to me.

So what is so special about this little green box and tan container?  Simple.  They were the last things my late grandmother gave me.

When I started college, I moved in with my grandparents to help out.  In exchange for free room and board, I did the occasional load of laundry, washed a few dishes, and played chauffeur on weekends.  It was an idyllic time for me.  I was moved away from home (no pesky little brothers to bother me), had no rent, and my grandma did most of the cooking.  That's what I thought at first. Slowly, I started to actually talk to my grandparents and I realized they were some pretty cool people.  My grandpa talked about his beloved HAM radio buddies and his favorite bluegrass singers.  His memory wasn't the best but he had his favorite stories to tell about the three F's and the P-growing up on the Farm, visiting Finland, surviving the Fire, and being stationed in Panama. His stories always got more outrageous with each telling but that was how my Papa was. My grandma, recognizing I needed a hobby and some encouragement, took me under her wing. We spent hours talking, often late into the night, about everything from my class schedule to boy troubles to how to make bread.  She taught me how to cook by sight and taste, knit cozy socks and sweaters, and showed me her photo album of cakes she had decorated over the years. 

I have fond memories of those cakes.  Each birthday during my younger years, it was a special treat to get a decorated cake from Grandma. We looked forward to that cake all year because, even if you chose what the cake would be, you never quite knew what it would look like in the end.

Towards the end of my time at my grandparents, she was beginning to teach me a bit about cake decorating. Unfortunately, my grandparent's health took a sudden decline and they were unable to live at home anymore even with my assistance.  Before leaving the house that very last time, my grandmother made a point to give me her cake decorations and her decorating tips so I could continue my cake decorating lessons on my own.  I've had little opportunity to use them since they were handed to me that day but I can't bring myself to simply pack them away again or pass them on.  They are one of the last links I have to that very special grandmother and, now that I have kids of my own, I hope to one day pull out those battered old decorating tips and aging decorations to make their birthday cakes as special as the ones I remember from my childhood.

But most importantly, I'll remember that it isn't about the cake or the decorations.  I'll be passing on the love my grandmother shared with me.

*I wrote this essay in honor of my late grandmother for Mother's Day last year but tucked it away in a folder and forgot about it until I found it during a Spring Cleaning spree.