Why did the process of leaving a family friend or relative’s house seem to take forever? Little kids hated adult small talk, “My how you’ve grown. What grade were you in school? You’re almost as tall as your older brother.”
Adult chattering never stopped. Pitiful expressions, tugging at mom’s skirt, never made the process go faster. Going to your father for help didn’t work, either. His standard response, “Go ask your mother.” Which really meant, he knew from years of experience, saying goodbye could not be hurried.
Two generations later, blessed with more patience, the process hadn’t changed. Only the players in these mini-dramas were different. Grandma, family matriarch, cooked at home–did most of the cooking away from home.
For that reason, the head chef needed proper utensils, small appliances, to feel at home away from home–anything easily transportable.
Leftovers had to be divvied up. Grandma refereed the process. “Don’t take all of that–take more of this. Your sister likes cranberries, you know.”
“Where were the…
View original post 184 more words