There I was searching for one of my favourite spoons in the silverware drawer when it hit me. That’s exactly what Mom used to do.

I remember going home to visit Mom on the farm for a few summer days away from my busy job and family. It was a chance to slow down for a few precious days and get to know the amazing person that used to be “just Mom”. It was during one of these visits that I became aware of her spoonism.

In the mornings I would set the kitchen table for breakfast while Mom made tea and bustled from cupboard to fridge to table pulling out cereal, bread, muffins, home-made jams, jars of her preserves – stewed rhubarb mixed with black raspberries, applesauce or her beloved peaches. I fingered the well-worn homemade cupboard doors that wouldn’t close tight anymore, the old drawers that protested when you pulled and pushed, the white enamel double-wide sink, the dark green countertop edged with chrome that was always crowded with containers of cookies, squares or pies, empty preserve jars to be carried back down to the cellar and full ones ready to be enjoyed.

Mom making tea and coffee for an afternoon snack – notice the spoon jar on the table!

Before Mom sat down I noticed her sorting through all the different spoons she had accumulated over the years – different shapes, sizes, patterns. Not only were there spoons in the silverware drawer but she always kept a jar of spoons ready on the table so anyone could quickly grab whatever size spoon they wanted, whenever they needed one. I remember watching Mom sort through all those spoons, triumphantly finding her favourite cereal spoon and replacing the poor substitute I had laid out for her. It was the perfect size and shape she explained.

So Mom had a favourite cereal spoon; she had another favourite spoon with a wide deep base for dishing out her preserved peaches or garden-fresh strawberries for dessert; she also had a good set of very shiny silverware in a box used only when company came. For a few years when I was a kid she collected miniature souvenir spoons during our summer travels. Then there was the jar that sat on our kitchen table for years with spoons at the ready. Was spoonism serious? Should I be concerned with this “set in her ways” quirkiness?

I pictured Mom sorting through those spoons and replacing the cereal spoon I had laid out. I had merely smiled, feeling protective like a mother for a whimsical child. So set in her ways, I thought and yet, why not? She was enjoying simple things that mattered to her. For so many years she didn’t take time for herself.

My thoughts skittered back to the present in my own kitchen with dark green countertops scattered with containers of muffins and jars of preserves. Back to me sorting through my odd collection of spoons to find one of my favourites. My Mom is still with me in so many ways. Love you Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.