It's true, I miss my grandma a lot sometimes. Most often I feel a sudden urge to call her, to tell her a story or to talk about how beautiful the day or just to let her know that even though I don't live in Portland, I think of her a lot. When my cell phone lost service, I looked through all the numbers in it that I needed to save. Her number was still in the phone, as if I could still call her up.
Anyhow, I received a message last night from my sister-in-law Marie that she would be pulling pumpkin pies out of the oven in 10 minutes, and I was invited to come get a piece. It was too late or too cold or too much after having eaten dinner at nearly nine o'clock, but I made some excuse for not leaving home.
This afternoon I left a message for her that I was coming after work for a piece of pumpkin pie, and I would bring whip cream. (I already knew that she only had chocolate and rocky road ice cream in the freezer because that was what we had with Maya's birthday cake on Sunday.)
I don't have one yet, but I borrowed the egg beater out of the kitchen in the Parish Office. I stopped by the store and bought a cup of whipping cream (only size they had) and a bag of powdered sugar. It was getting dark, but I could still see the way home okay. I called Marie in advance and asked her to put her mixing bowl in the fridge to get it cold.
Whipping up the cream was fun. It was nostalgic of all the pumpkin pies and strawberry shortcakes at 4303 SE Henderson St. I loved helping whip the cream, especially when my finger accidentally fell into the bowl and scooped up a dollop on the way out.
Yummmm....there is nothing like homemade whip cream to remind me of family and Grandma's house.
I looked for her eggbeater after all my aunts and uncles claimed their inheritance from the house. I feel lucky to have her double boiler and an old funnel, her old teaspoons and measuring cups, and even the last
stove top timer she had (a really weird one...definitely not the onion one of my childhood). I didn't find it. It looked kind of like the one in the picture, but the handle was wooden, I think. And the knob was more of a round wooden ball. Or at least that is how I remember it. I keep an eye out in thrift stores, but haven't found the right one.
Some things really just can't be replaced...
It's true, I miss my grandma a lot sometimes. Most often I feel a sudden urge to call her, to tell her a story or to talk about how beautiful the day or just to let her know that even though I don't live in Portland, I think of her a lot. When my cell phone lost service, I looked through all the numbers in it that I needed to save. Her number was still in the phone, as if I could still call her up.
Anyhow, I received a message last night from my sister-in-law Marie that she would be pulling pumpkin pies out of the oven in 10 minutes, and I was invited to come get a piece. It was too late or too cold or too much after having eaten dinner at nearly nine o'clock, but I made some excuse for not leaving home.
This afternoon I left a message for her that I was coming after work for a piece of pumpkin pie, and I would bring whip cream. (I already knew that she only had chocolate and rocky road ice cream in the freezer because that was what we had with Maya's birthday cake on Sunday.)
I don't have one yet, but I borrowed the egg beater out of the kitchen in the Parish Office. I stopped by the store and bought a cup of whipping cream (only size they had) and a bag of powdered sugar. It was getting dark, but I could still see the way home okay. I called Marie in advance and asked her to put her mixing bowl in the fridge to get it cold.
Whipping up the cream was fun. It was nostalgic of all the pumpkin pies and strawberry shortcakes at 4303 SE Henderson St. I loved helping whip the cream, especially when my finger accidentally fell into the bowl and scooped up a dollop on the way out. Yummmm....there is nothing like homemade whip cream to remind me of family and Grandma's house.
I looked for her eggbeater after all my aunts and uncles claimed their inheritance from the house. I feel lucky to have her double boiler and an old funnel, her old teaspoons and measuring cups, and even the last stove top timer she had (a really weird one...definitely not the onion one of my childhood). I didn't find it. It looked kind of like the one in the picture, but the handle was wooden, I think. And the knob was more of a round wooden ball. Or at least that is how I remember it. I keep an eye out in thrift stores, but haven't found the right one.
Some things really just can't be replaced...
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