I was very pregnant with Lars when my Gramma died - too close to my due date to risk a four-hour drive north into the snowbelt, even though I knew it might be the last time that whole side of my family would be together. My aunt lived in town and called me from Gramma's house early on the day everyone would arrive to ask if there was anything I wanted from the house - she said she'd save it aside for me since I couldn't come up myself. In a moment of divine grace, I asked for Gramma's mixer, and it was mine. I honestly have no idea why I thought of her mixer. At the time, I was working full time with a commute that was an hour each way on a good day. Chris was also working and we had nearly two children - barely time to think, let alone cook...but there it was, the one and only thing I could think of that mattered to me.
That spring, we made a trip up to Syracuse to visit my aunt and a few cousins that were around and I got the mixer. My aunt reported that she had her work cut out for her in saving it for me as it turned out EVERYONE wanted Gramma's mixer! It was mine, though, and still is. In the years since, my life has changed a lot. Our work situations are different, which both forced and allowed more homemade meals. I've discovered I like to cook and bake and have gotten pretty good at it. I wonder sometimes how much of it is practice and how much of it is Gramma, stationed near her mixer, helping me figure it out.