I handed my husband Eric a plate of food the other night while he was busy watching cars drive in circles on TV.
“Sorry, it took a bit longer than I thought it would,” I told him. “I got sidetracked writing an ode to my pestle.”
Because he’s lived with me for almost 26 years, he didn’t bat an eye.
“That’ll happen,” he said mildly, picking up his fork while still keeping an eye on ESPN.
He didn’t realize I was totally serious. Here it is, the ode to my pestle:
I love the way you squish things up and turn them into dust,
I love the way we jazz up food, ‘cause spices are a must.
You match my marble rolling pin, a coincidence I’m told,
I inherited that from my grandma, I’ll have them both when I’m old.
I love to cook and play with herbs, chow usually ends up nummy,
But grinding all of it by hand was actually kind of crummy.
With my pestle I squish up stuff and add it to our food,
The flavors I get out of you put everyone in a good mood.
I love the way you work so hard, it makes my smile and shout,
You were a gift and I’m so pleased my son-in-law picked you out!
I realize it isn’t Shakespeare, but given the fact that I was making supper and jotting down notes for my ode at the same time, it isn’t half bad. And supper was very good. Herbs and stuff.
A few days later, Eric was watching me use the pestle to break up some stuff and was pleasantly surprised.
“Wow, that thing really is cool,” he said.
I could tell he was eyeing it up and wondering what he could do with it in his garage. I’m going to have to protect it, I can tell. My pestle.
It was a Christmas gift from my daughter and son-in-law, and because Maggie was rather preggo at the time and not very inclined to shop, Luke picked it out for me at a kitchen store.
So, quick message to Luke:
I’m so glad you’re part of our family. Not just for the pestle. I love your voice (Luke is a very accomplished country singer), I love your dog, and I really love the way my daughter lights up whenever you walk into a room.
Thanks for that. Oh, and for the really cool grandbaby.