When I married my husband I learned quickly that his three sisters, mom, and grandma had a silent dance they did together in the kitchen.
They didn’t realize it was a dance, but to me that was what it looked like. They moved effortlessly around each other, almost in a rhythm, and could prepare a holiday meal and have it ready to serve in no time.
When the gravy needed stirring…some one did it. When the dressing needed to come out of the oven…someone noticed. They knew where everything was in the kitchen and anticipated each other’s needs without having to ask.
They brought from their homes dozens of side dishes: mounds of food (or should I say pounds of food?) and platters heaped high with meats and veggies. The kitchen island would turn into a buffet and eventually the laundry room would be taken over and lined with pies and cakes until you could no longer see the appliances.
It was a beautiful thing!I usually hid…
I felt in the way, or at the very least, out of place. I had never seen that many people in that small a space. The fact that they moved about so freely without running into each other astounded me.
It didn’t take them long to notice that I was clueless in the kitchen. I was obviously better at setting the table than standing behind the stove.
From that point on, when they assigned jobs, mine was to make a salad and bring the brownies. If I could buy it at the store or mix it from a box they knew I could probably manage it. They were forgiving (most of the time) and let me help when I saw a need or play with the nieces and nephews when I didn’t.
I eventually learned the Henry method for using a peeler, how to mix up a batch of cornbread, and what ingredients went into a blackberry cobbler. But during those early years my culinary skills were sorely lacking when compared to the rest of them. (Who am I kidding? My culinary skills are STILL sorely lacking when compared to the rest of them.)
These days our kitchens are bigger and some of the dancers have changed: Grandma has been gone nearly two decades and Larry’s mom doesn’t feel like helping much anymore. Yet, it still happens — like a silent symphony, the music plays and the dancers move…still in rhythm, still unrehearsed.
I fumble along, stepping in and out, hoping to not mess up the beat — staying mostly in time with the sisters and their girls, three generations down.
It’s still a thing of beauty.It still leaves me amazed.
Best of all, it reminds me of why I love this family. Things do not always go smoothly. Sometimes there are messes to clean up. Sometimes one of us will miss a step. But the dance goes on…still in sync, moving freely with each other, committed to making something wonderful.
I think I’ll keep them.
My favorite post so far. I love this!
Beautiful! Your mother in law let me sit in the kitchen and watch for several years as a child, assigned sitting the dishes !
That was so sweet- made me think of how we all worked together just this Thanksgiving – sweet memories going way back. Best yet, Claudine!