I haven’t visited my parents’ graves since their burials, yet I honor them every time I cook an omelet in the ancient cast-iron pan my mother used for decades or read a book in the weathered leather chair that sat next to my father’s desk forever.
Some people take solace from visiting grave sites of parents. Mine were buried in California while I live in New Jersey. But even if they were nearby, I don’t know if I would visit. The cemetery isn’t where I feel their presence. I feel it when I use the things they used.
I am writing this column seated on a dilapidated computer chair that my father used for many years. The foam armrest of the chair fell off a couple of days ago. I plan to duct-tape it back on as soon I get motivated enough to search for the duct tape. I think this chair has years left in it.
Living in Retirement
My computer sits on my father’s massive rosewood desk. I remember when the desk arrived at our house in the 1960s. It’s a modern style that I never particularly cared for. That doesn’t matter. It was his desk for 50 years, and is still imbued with his curmudgeonly presence. When the wood veneer began peeling off two of its drawers last year, I bought a couple of tiny clamps at Home Depot and carefully glued the veneer back on. I hope to expire before the desk does.
I’m not alone in such sentiments. One of our spatulas lost its plastic handle early in our 38-year marriage. We grip it by the metal tang that was inside the plastic handle. The spatula belonged to my wife’s grandmother, and is one of the few mementos Clarissa has of her abuelita. I suppose we could hide it away somewhere for safe keeping, but it still does a good job of flipping eggs or burgers.
Clarissa also still uses her grandmother’s potato masher. It’s bent in the middle so it doesn’t mash well. “But I think about her every time I make mashed potatoes or beans, “ she says. Now I know why she always starts with that one and ends the job with a newer one.
If we keep using their possessions, must we use them as they did? My mother told me one of the secrets for an omelet pan was to never use it for anything else. Sorry, Mom. I use it to cook other things as well, and it still seems to work well for omelets.
But I haven’t completely forgotten my mother’s wisdom. Just like her I never wash the pan—soap and water are bad news for cast iron. I rub salt on it if something is stuck on its surface, then season it with a drop of vegetable oil, and stick it back in the drawer.
Like my mother, it’s always there when I need it.
Write to us at retirement@barrons.com
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July 19, 2020 at 07:00PM
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Memories in Things Used. How Our Semi-Retired Columnist Connects With the Past. - Barron's
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