The Crock-pot and the Casserole Carrier*
I got a new Crock-pot a couple of weeks ago. Lauren, you may say, that's great! You've moved into an apartment, you're being self-sufficient and independent, you're outfitting a kitchen to be proud of, you go, you! And, for the most part, that's absolutely true. I have been a solo apartment renter for just about four months now, and I've loved navigating this new challenge where not only do you have the freedom to really do whatever you want, but you are also the only one to make the big decisions. It's been really, really great (and I'll probably blog about it at some point). Until I got this new Crock-pot.
Something about me: I put a lot of sentimentality into the things in my life. I generally find it very difficult for me to throw something away, especially if it was given to me by someone I care about. Believe me, cleaning out my room at my parents' house was an experience. Tears were shed over stuffed animals I hadn't seen in years. So, yeah, I attach a lot of meaning to the things that I choose to surround myself with. Honestly, if you visit me at my apartment, test me. Ask me to tell you the story about the knick-knacks and I'm sure that I'll spin you a tale about each one.
Anyway, this Crock-pot. It's very nice, and it was on sale. It's got a plain, stainless steel appearance, and perfect for cooking for two (or so the box said). I don't live with anyone else, but I meal prep, so I make large batches of things, so this size seemed appropriate. There were many options for Crock-pots, which was unexpected. Automatic Crock-pots, hot pink Crock-pots, Crock-pots made to cook for 10. I went easy and got the bargain-basement, plain, turn dial Crock-pot that I have always known. Honestly, this new Crock-pot wasn't the problem. The old one was.
My grandparents, besides my parents, were probably the people who molded me the most into the person that I am today. My grandmas were kind, funny, take-no-shit ladies, and they both had that very grandma-like talent: they were amazing cooks. I have so many deep-set memories of waking up to the smell of pancakes and bacon at Nonnie (my dad's mom)'s house, and seeing the incredible spread Grandma (my mom's mom) would whip up every holiday like it was nothing. Many of the stories that I hear about them revolve around never letting someone leave their presence until they were fed. There are the recipes that they always made, and no one can ever make it the way that they did (believe me, I've tried).
My grandparents have all passed away, and their deaths had a huge impact on me. Nonnie passed away the summer before 6th grade, and Grandma passed away the Monday before Easter during my freshman year of college. Grandma's death came in the middle of an awful 15-month period where Grandpa (Grandma's husband) passed away two days before I graduated high school and Poppie (Nonnie's husband) passed away two weeks before I started my sophomore year of college. To say that it was a difficult time would be an understatement. To top all of this off, I did not take the opportunity to really grieve properly for my grandparents, and the healing that comes with expressing grief took much longer to take hold.
Which brings us back to this Crock-pot. Grandma and Grandpa had moved into an assisted living facility a few years before they passed away, and in helping move we went through a lot of their things and distributed some stuff amongst the family that wouldn't fit into the new apartment. As the grandchild who enjoyed (was obsessed with) cooking the most, many of the cooking items were offered to me. One of the things that I got was this Crock-pot. It was the most 1970s thing that I've ever seen, brown and avocado green. It has little brown sketches of vegetables dancing around the bottom. I looked it up once and I'm pretty sure it's the original Crock-pot. Like, I literally think my grandma bought the first edition Crock-pot when it was released in the early 1970s. It would certainly explain the color scheme.
Lauren, you're thinking to yourself, you shouldn't feel bad about replacing this Crock-pot. If you're correct, then this Crock-pot is 46 years old. That's a pretty solid replacement window for anything, much less a kitchen appliance. Yeah, reader, I would respond, but here's the thing: Grandma's Crock-pot still works. Seriously. I've used this Crock-pot with its now-questionable plug since it was passed on to me, and it has never disappointed me. Then, you might say in this truly assumptive conversation I'm creating, why would you bother buying a new one? And here, dear reader, is the basis of my guilt: I lost the lid. It broke, and I figured that it was probably about time to replace the Crock-pot with its potentially faulty wiring instead of just buying a new lid. So, I treated myself to my plain Target Crock-pot that I got on sale, and I'm almost scared to use it. I bought it two months ago and it has sat in the spot where that avocado Crock-pot used to sit, unused.
I'm sure you're thinking, dude, this is literally a $20 cooking appliance we're talking about, not Grandma's china. And I would respond by pointing you back to my second paragraph: things hold memories for me. I couldn't even throw the OG Crock-pot away. It's tucked into the back of my pantry, lidless, just in case I find a random lid somewhere or I need two Crock-pots and I'll just drape it in foil. As I get older, I'm surprised by the little things that bring me right back to sitting in Grandma and Nonnie's kitchens. And the idea of throwing away Grandma's Crock-pot felt like throwing away a piece of Grandma, and it's already hard enough to hold onto all of my precious memories of her as I get older.
And this doesn't just happen with old stuff either. For some reason, one of the items that reminds me the most of Nonnie's cooking is her dark green Pyrex casserole carrier. When she showed up to family birthdays or Owen Thanksgiving, there was the green casserole carrier, keeping whatever deliciousness she had made nice and toasty warm. I don't know what happened to the casserole carrier when Nonnie passed away. I was younger, and her passing was more unexpected, so we didn't have a real assigning of things. I know there is a green casserole carrier at my parents' house, but I don't know if it's the same one or if it just became a requisite item for every Midwestern home in the 80s and 90s.
So, I'm shopping for groceries, and the grocery that I shop at has a section for cooking utensils and dishes. I stopped to look (because I'm a huge cooking nerd still), and I glanced over the display of Pyrex containers (those meal prep meals don't contain themselves, ya know). On the top shelf, I spotted it: a teal casserole carrier. I don't think I've ever put anything into a cart so fast in my life. The thing is, I hadn't really thought about that casserole carrier for some time. Seeing it on the shelf just closed some kind of circuit to my childhood, and I needed it. This teal piece of fabric with handles was a close enough approximation to Nonnie's, and I think that's what I needed.
I've been thinking about this Crock-pot and this casserole carrier since I bought them, and I've been trying to think of why they have been taking up so much room in my heart and my mind. And, I think the answer is this: there is nothing I want more than to be like the three most important women in my life: my mom, Grandma, and Nonnie. That avocado Crock-pot and that greenish casserole carrier mean that I'm just a little closer to walking in their footsteps. I think one of the many ways that they showed love was by feeding people, and I want to do that too. I think there's another answer as well: I miss my grandmas. Every time I think I've sewn up that little hole that grief has created in my heart, something in my life will pop up and I'll immediately think "I wish Nonnie and Poppie and Grandma and Grandpa were here for this," and a new little tear is created. That Crock-pot and that casserole carrier don't fill that tear, but they sure remind me of the good things that were brought by them and the memories that were created by them. And because of that, that avocado Crock-pot might keep its little spot in the corner of pantry, just so that it can keep those lovely memories alive.
*it may be hard to believe, but neither Crock-pot nor Pyrex sponsored this post.
Something about me: I put a lot of sentimentality into the things in my life. I generally find it very difficult for me to throw something away, especially if it was given to me by someone I care about. Believe me, cleaning out my room at my parents' house was an experience. Tears were shed over stuffed animals I hadn't seen in years. So, yeah, I attach a lot of meaning to the things that I choose to surround myself with. Honestly, if you visit me at my apartment, test me. Ask me to tell you the story about the knick-knacks and I'm sure that I'll spin you a tale about each one.
Anyway, this Crock-pot. It's very nice, and it was on sale. It's got a plain, stainless steel appearance, and perfect for cooking for two (or so the box said). I don't live with anyone else, but I meal prep, so I make large batches of things, so this size seemed appropriate. There were many options for Crock-pots, which was unexpected. Automatic Crock-pots, hot pink Crock-pots, Crock-pots made to cook for 10. I went easy and got the bargain-basement, plain, turn dial Crock-pot that I have always known. Honestly, this new Crock-pot wasn't the problem. The old one was.
My grandparents, besides my parents, were probably the people who molded me the most into the person that I am today. My grandmas were kind, funny, take-no-shit ladies, and they both had that very grandma-like talent: they were amazing cooks. I have so many deep-set memories of waking up to the smell of pancakes and bacon at Nonnie (my dad's mom)'s house, and seeing the incredible spread Grandma (my mom's mom) would whip up every holiday like it was nothing. Many of the stories that I hear about them revolve around never letting someone leave their presence until they were fed. There are the recipes that they always made, and no one can ever make it the way that they did (believe me, I've tried).
My grandparents have all passed away, and their deaths had a huge impact on me. Nonnie passed away the summer before 6th grade, and Grandma passed away the Monday before Easter during my freshman year of college. Grandma's death came in the middle of an awful 15-month period where Grandpa (Grandma's husband) passed away two days before I graduated high school and Poppie (Nonnie's husband) passed away two weeks before I started my sophomore year of college. To say that it was a difficult time would be an understatement. To top all of this off, I did not take the opportunity to really grieve properly for my grandparents, and the healing that comes with expressing grief took much longer to take hold.
Which brings us back to this Crock-pot. Grandma and Grandpa had moved into an assisted living facility a few years before they passed away, and in helping move we went through a lot of their things and distributed some stuff amongst the family that wouldn't fit into the new apartment. As the grandchild who enjoyed (was obsessed with) cooking the most, many of the cooking items were offered to me. One of the things that I got was this Crock-pot. It was the most 1970s thing that I've ever seen, brown and avocado green. It has little brown sketches of vegetables dancing around the bottom. I looked it up once and I'm pretty sure it's the original Crock-pot. Like, I literally think my grandma bought the first edition Crock-pot when it was released in the early 1970s. It would certainly explain the color scheme.
Lauren, you're thinking to yourself, you shouldn't feel bad about replacing this Crock-pot. If you're correct, then this Crock-pot is 46 years old. That's a pretty solid replacement window for anything, much less a kitchen appliance. Yeah, reader, I would respond, but here's the thing: Grandma's Crock-pot still works. Seriously. I've used this Crock-pot with its now-questionable plug since it was passed on to me, and it has never disappointed me. Then, you might say in this truly assumptive conversation I'm creating, why would you bother buying a new one? And here, dear reader, is the basis of my guilt: I lost the lid. It broke, and I figured that it was probably about time to replace the Crock-pot with its potentially faulty wiring instead of just buying a new lid. So, I treated myself to my plain Target Crock-pot that I got on sale, and I'm almost scared to use it. I bought it two months ago and it has sat in the spot where that avocado Crock-pot used to sit, unused.
I'm sure you're thinking, dude, this is literally a $20 cooking appliance we're talking about, not Grandma's china. And I would respond by pointing you back to my second paragraph: things hold memories for me. I couldn't even throw the OG Crock-pot away. It's tucked into the back of my pantry, lidless, just in case I find a random lid somewhere or I need two Crock-pots and I'll just drape it in foil. As I get older, I'm surprised by the little things that bring me right back to sitting in Grandma and Nonnie's kitchens. And the idea of throwing away Grandma's Crock-pot felt like throwing away a piece of Grandma, and it's already hard enough to hold onto all of my precious memories of her as I get older.
And this doesn't just happen with old stuff either. For some reason, one of the items that reminds me the most of Nonnie's cooking is her dark green Pyrex casserole carrier. When she showed up to family birthdays or Owen Thanksgiving, there was the green casserole carrier, keeping whatever deliciousness she had made nice and toasty warm. I don't know what happened to the casserole carrier when Nonnie passed away. I was younger, and her passing was more unexpected, so we didn't have a real assigning of things. I know there is a green casserole carrier at my parents' house, but I don't know if it's the same one or if it just became a requisite item for every Midwestern home in the 80s and 90s.
So, I'm shopping for groceries, and the grocery that I shop at has a section for cooking utensils and dishes. I stopped to look (because I'm a huge cooking nerd still), and I glanced over the display of Pyrex containers (those meal prep meals don't contain themselves, ya know). On the top shelf, I spotted it: a teal casserole carrier. I don't think I've ever put anything into a cart so fast in my life. The thing is, I hadn't really thought about that casserole carrier for some time. Seeing it on the shelf just closed some kind of circuit to my childhood, and I needed it. This teal piece of fabric with handles was a close enough approximation to Nonnie's, and I think that's what I needed.
I've been thinking about this Crock-pot and this casserole carrier since I bought them, and I've been trying to think of why they have been taking up so much room in my heart and my mind. And, I think the answer is this: there is nothing I want more than to be like the three most important women in my life: my mom, Grandma, and Nonnie. That avocado Crock-pot and that greenish casserole carrier mean that I'm just a little closer to walking in their footsteps. I think one of the many ways that they showed love was by feeding people, and I want to do that too. I think there's another answer as well: I miss my grandmas. Every time I think I've sewn up that little hole that grief has created in my heart, something in my life will pop up and I'll immediately think "I wish Nonnie and Poppie and Grandma and Grandpa were here for this," and a new little tear is created. That Crock-pot and that casserole carrier don't fill that tear, but they sure remind me of the good things that were brought by them and the memories that were created by them. And because of that, that avocado Crock-pot might keep its little spot in the corner of pantry, just so that it can keep those lovely memories alive.
*it may be hard to believe, but neither Crock-pot nor Pyrex sponsored this post.
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