As I opened up my kitchen drawer yesterday (pictured above), the drawer closest to my cook top, it occurred to me that maybe I should explain again what Tasting Spoons is all about. Not my philosophy. You can figure that out! It’s about where the name came from. So gather ’round my cherubs and listen to the story. Some of you know it or have read it before. I’m nostalgic today, so the story is worth repeating, but in a bit more detail.
My DH (dear husband Dave) and I both are only children. Neither of us felt deprived as we grew up – how could we, with our parents’ undivided attention – maybe sad for our children that they don’t have aunts and uncles – but it is what it is. Dave’s dad passed away many years ago – years before I met Dave in 1981. His dear mother died in the mid-1990’s, back in his home town of Ocean City, New Jersey. With help from a cousin and friend, we went through her household of stuff and decided what to keep, what to ship, what to give away. We shipped a variety of kitchen things and dishes. And we kept all of her silver. She had a couple of sets (plate and sterling). And a bunch of old family silverware pieces – some that are so large they’re unwieldy to use, and they must be silver plate since all the shiny silver is gone. Likely I’ll never use them, but we’ll pass them on to our kids and let them decide what to do with them.
But, in with the myriad of pieces in one silverware chest I found some small, delicate spoons. With various engraved initials in flowing script – some we can’t descern the letters, they’re so engraved with flourish. They’re likely tea spoons. There are a couple of different types and most of them were well used with dents and scratches. Most were unattractive because the silver was spotty in places. They are sterling, because they have the sterling mark on the backs, but they’re very light weight and pliable. I don’t know enough about the chemistry of sterling silver flatware to understand. Most sterling is very heavy. Maybe somebody reading this will enlighten me.
So, jump forward about ten years. Dave’s mother’s sister Louise passed away. She lived in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and had no children. Nevertheless, we were surprised to learn that Dave was her heir. She had married quite late in life, but divorced when she was in her late 60’s, I think it was. Prior to and after the divorce she was close with her former step-children and their children. But then, her ex, at about age 89 or so, remarried the maid. The maid that Louise had hired when she “ran” the house. The family was a bit torn – they cared for Louise – but the family wealth had come from the ex, the blueblood patriarch of the family, so the children and adult grandchildren weren’t about to snub this new “grandmother.” And Louise, after all, was a step-mum or step-grandmother herself. Thus began a saga worthy of a soap opera.
Louise had planned to leave her estate to the grandchildren, but prior to a family baby shower the new wife, the maid, was invited (she was, after all, married to the grandfather of the family and was taking care of the crotchety old guy). Louise got her back up. A big snit followed and Louise refused to go to any further family gatherings if “that woman” was going to be there. The family said yes, she was going to be included. Louise believed these family members were traitors to her. No amount of talking or discussing would change her mind, apparently. She gnawed on it until it ate a hole in her soul, I’m afraid. So, she changed her will (and didn’t mention it to Dave). And had planned to change it more and remove all the grandchildren from her will, but hadn’t done it officially. Some of those grandchildren did get a small bequest. As her only blood relative, Dave inherited what was left of her estate, with bequests to both of his children too. Her household stuff, furniture, and some stocks and bonds. We were surprised and grateful. Some of those ex-relatives attended the memorial service (slipping in late and leaving early). Likely Louise was screaming from the heavens to refuse them admittance. Some were noticeably absent. What wicked webs we weave sometimes, eh?
So, once again, we traveled to the east coast and sorted and purged and planned the memorial service (which she specifically didn’t want, but her close friends pleaded with us to do it anyway – for them they said, so we did). Most everything was handled by an attorney/executor. We stayed at Louise’s home for a few days while we decided what was worth saving, shipping, etc. Our son got a lovely old table. We couldn’t actually pack anything – the executor was quite officious about it all because the house she was living in belonged to Louise’s ex-husband. But he’d died at about age 101, so it belonged to the family estate.
It was a lovely home, with a gorgeous view of the inlet and marsh near Gloucester. The ex had to buy the house for her as part of the divorce and she was allowed to live in it until her death, then it reverted to him or his estate. So anyway, Dave and I marked things and moved them into a separate pile to be shipped. A variety of art (mostly original watercolors) was included too. And a lovely antique music box from Austria that Louise bought in Vienna on her honeymoon, she said. We didn’t get one painting that I really wanted because Louise’s attorney insisted it had been promised to her, even though it wasn’t in the will. (The attorney’s partner was the executor, and he ruled in her favor.) My DH is quite partial to all of the paintings, some likely worth something to a knowing buyer, I suppose. And, we also earmarked Louise’s silver. It wasn’t until the shipment arrived (months and months later after probate was completed) that I discovered a bunch of spoons in one of the chests. I was tickled pink. I put them with the others and found many similar ones to Dave’s mother’s. They must have been from the two sister’s parents and their families. But these spoons had been replated, so they’re sparkly shiny and in excellent condition. Those are the ones I use most of the time. I polish them every few months and try not to dip them in egg or tarnish producing mayo.
I use these spoons every single day. Or, every single day that I cook. They’re right handy by the stove. The spoons are used and treasured, and I think about Dave’s mother Helen and his Aunt Louise nearly every time I reach for one. I’m certain they’d both be very happy that they’re being appreciated. And that they’d become the namesake of my blog.
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