A Journey from the Stovetop 6/4/2023

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

Isn’t it funny the little things that jar memories?  It could be one of the most miniscule details and suddenly lifetimes worth of recollections just flood your mind.  That is what has happened to me this week. It was a veritable domino effect.  It all started with something little that merited an old family memory that both my husband and I experienced (in our own respective families of course).  From there the one little fleck in time reflected light on another moment and before I knew it, I had migrated down memory lane and had already gathered a full bouquet of wildflowers along the way having journeyed so far.  So, I figured today might be a good day to take you with me down that path.  Who knows, perhaps you’ll find a lovely little side road of your own.

It started after supper one night. We decided to plant a garden this year for the first time in a while, so we have been blessed with fresh vegetables for many a meal. Well, we had some that we gathered and were a bit slow to cook and in putting all that squash and zucchini to use we had a bit left over. Now please understand, the amount that remained was not a lot. It was less than a good serving but more than bite.  If it were just a bite (as this medley was quite delicious) either my husband or I would have simply polished it off but since it was just a bit more than either of us wanted after finishing our meal, we both declined. I asked my husband what I should do with this little pile of vegetal goodness, and he said just to put it in something easy like a paper plate and just leave it on the stove, since he might want it later.  I did so and smiled. I looked at him and talked about how it reminded me of my Granny. He smiled similarly and said the same.

Growing up we both recall leftover food being left on the stove. We talked lovingly of neatly folded paper towels holding a biscuit or two and perhaps a patty of sausage leftover from breakfast. He grew up in his grandparents’ home, so he saw this regularly.  My grandparents always lived far away so I didn’t get to experience it as often but remember it just the same. I remember, as the food lover that I am and always have been, being so excited to arrive at my Granny’s house. We would often arrive mid-morning and I knew that 9 times out of 10 there were going to be breakfast remnants on a folded paper towel on the stove top. These were the kind of bits and bobs that one can grab and make into a fantastic little bite to eat sitting somewhere between a snack and a minimal brunch.  I remembered bee-lining straight to the kitchen when we’d arrive at my Granny’s house.  She wasn’t the only relative that provided tasty tidbits in the kitchen but in the classic resting on the stove sense of the word that was her tradition, and those paper towel treasures are what led to my husband and I smiling and reminiscing in our kitchen.

In thinking about my Granny, a few other things came to mind.  If you’re a regular reader, you know as of late I’ve been talking about dogs.  I remembered the dogs my Granny had from time to time. My first memory of her having a dog was of some sort of little pup that I am assuming was some sort of chihuahua and other itty bitty breed mixture. His name was Tiny, and he lived up to it.  Well, actually he was tiny in the sense of a small breed of dog but what he lacked in height and length he well made up for in girth. He looked like a furry little sausage with an underbite. Bless him, he was not a handsome man. I do remember that much. I think my first memories of him were actually with him as an already old fellow.  I remember them telling me when he passed away. Some big dogs had come into my Granny’s yard and apparently scared poor elderly Tiny so badly, who was hiding under a vehicle, that he had a heart attack and crossed the rainbow bridge. What a way to go. 

After Tiny was no more, if I remember correctly, and there is a good chance that my brain is just tossing together random memories like a strange salad, but after that I just remember almost every time we went to visit her, my Granny had a different dog. I don’t know where they were going, and I don’t know where they were coming from.  The one probably most firmly engrained in my mind though is the one, that while I don’t remember his name, that my pure joy in interacting with him is unmistakable. She had an Alaskan Malamute once. We pulled up and parked in the yard and I promise you, that massive dog stood up to check us out and put his front paws up on the top of our car.

He was huge. He had icy blue eyes. In my mind he looked like a gigantic wolf, and he was friendly to the point that he would tolerate all manner of foolishness.  I remember very clearly using this huge floof as a pillow. I can only fathom the amazing flights of fancy that my imagination enjoyed pretending that I was lying there with my giant wolf protector and companion. It was nothing short of magical.  I do not know what became of him.  He was probably rather toasty for most of his life there, so I hope wherever he ended up he was privy to cooler temperatures.

Simply with leftovers after dinner, I took a lengthy trip down memory lane. It is always intriguing to me to see the little things that send me off on such sojourns. I know I am not the only one that lets this type of thing happen. I think it’s a beautiful thing really, to let everyday bits of life become extraordinary because of where they can take you. Especially when it is to a place that you can’t truly go to anymore since neither my husband’s nor my Granny are with us anymore.  It’s truly a treasure, sitting there innocently on a paper towel on the stove.