Finding lost treasures

 

My mom's bean pot.

Jordan went up in the attic today to look for baskets for Christmas decorations and came down with a huge storage box that she proudly presented to me. Labeled, “Juju’s Kitchen,” it had somehow been shoved aside when I downsized from the house to the cottage.

Since then I’ve asked such things as “Where is my soup ladle?” or that metal spatula that gets a good crust on things like salmon patties. One thing I asked for a lot was the casserole carrier my mom used to bring from her house to ours. Christian has one I gave him several years ago and swears he has used it a lot, not just to bring food to the cottage but to take breakfast to clients, etc. Every time I saw it, I asked, “What ever happened to Grandmother’s?” Jacob said so happily tonight, “We found your carrier, Juju.”

There was my mom’s classic bean pot, one of my favorite large wooden salad bowls, carved with an adze in the mountains of North Carolina, a round wooden tray with a maple leaf on it that Canadian relatives gave me when I married, all those years go. The Nambé dishes I served food from most nights when the kids were growing up—now scratched and dull (the dishes, not the kids). I’ve heard you can restore their luster with double-ought steel wool, but I just wrote Nambé International to inquire about a product. In past years, a visit to the Nambé outlet store was a highlight of an annual trip to Santa Fe. So many memories came tumbling out of that basket—a wooden spoon on which Colin had laboriously burned, “Good for dinner at Del Frisco’s.” He really did take me.

There were lots and lots of place mats—harvest gold, which dates me. But also some that match my mom’s Suzy Cooper china that Megan has, tons of blue because we ate off Blue Willow plates. We will give those away—my kids don’t use place mats anymore. Lovely reminders of a life well lived.

Today, the present is not so lovely. I tangled with online everything, one of those days when I despise computers. Jordan goes into a rage every time she tries to pay the AT&T bill—they never recognize any of our possible usernames, not even the ones they send us. I said I would take it over, but soon was so overpowered with frustration I gave it up. Then Jamie sent me a link to what Melanie wants and a hint for him; tried to order Mel’s gift, and they don’t take Discover or PayPal. So I asked Jame to order it—he uses sophisticated payment methods like Venmo or something that I don’t. Then I went online to order him a gift certificate for the new Xbox he seems fairly confident he’s getting—they had a problem with my payment, and it would take two to three hours to deal with it. No thank you, I was out of there. So Jamie had to do his own Christmas shopping this year. Christmas can get so complicated.

I ordered an Amazon gift for Brandon sent directly to their house in Austin—and got word that it was delivered yesterday, which made me think it came here—only it didn’t. Jordan said maybe it came to their house in Austin, but they were out of town until tonight. Hope porch thieves didn’t get it.

And thanks to Mr. DeJoy or whatever—he who caused a postal uproar and mess and has now disappeared. Was he fired? Even if so, he managed to screw up the postal service. I ordered stamps three weeks ago at least, finally got a message they’ve shipped, but they have not appeared. And on my desk is a whole stack of Christmas gifts and cards that should have been mailed Friday.

Sometimes I wish for simpler times—and this is one of those days. But as I listened to the sermon about the gift of joy this morning, I thought how much we have to be joyful for—a vaccine that is rolling out quickly, a new president. The world may right itself yet. And we shall have a Merry Ho-ho-ho Christmas.