A Three-Tined Fork
When my mother passed away last year, her possessions were scattered among her large family. Knickknacks were given to her great grandchildren, her treasured cut-glass bowls were divided among her children, and her clothing was donated to a local non-profit.
Have you ever noticed how the oddest things can trigger memories? Among the items I inherited was a black-handled, three-tined fork my mother used when frying bacon. The handle has melted in spots and the tines are crooked. If I tried to give it away, I doubt I could find a taker. But every time I use that fork, I think of my mother standing at the kitchen stove, her white hair frizzed around her face and her cheeks flushed. She’s holding that fork, her elbow resting on her hip as she cooks. It’s a happy memory. One of those good ones you hate to lose.
Do you have your own three-tined fork? Something you have owned for years that only you could treasure? Your assignment for today is to write about a useless piece of junk that you prize. Put your timer on for ten minutes and make us understand why you love it with details. Post your writing in the comments section below to share!
P.S. Don’t forget about my Writing in the Garden Retreat in Baxter, Minnesota, on Friday, August 19. We only have room for 15 and spots are filling! Plans are underway for another writing retreat at Quilting in the Pines for sometime in September or October. I’ll keep you posted!
i met poncho about 15 years ago, he was the husband of my wifes freind.”my wife had asked me to help poncho move some stuff in his storage trailor,because he was sick and coulnt lift much.’our freindship grew fast because we both love junk,everything he owned had a pricetag on it, i ound out then that he sold stuff at flea markets. many times i would stop work just to go help poncho,i had a yearning to see what he dragged out or purchased in his travels. one day he came to my shop and he needed a hole drilled in his bumper” i had no tools to do this.poncho looked around my shop, and he found a way to finish the job and ofcourse i didnt charge anything,
i hadnt seen poncho for like 6 months, so when i asked his wife about him one day uptown, she informed me that he was so weak he couldnt go anywhere because of his sickness’ andhe wasnt taking visitors. his condition left him swelled up so he felt embarassed.my wife and i sent a card and some pretty weeds from the property.
then he passed away about 5 days later, it wasnt till another week had passed before i spotted a drill press sitting in my shop next to a small welder with a note tird to the drill chuck” it was from poncho,”all it said was,i think you will use this more than i will” i often wonder how he got it past me, and everytime i drill a hole
with that press,”i think of my freind……poncho”
Nice to see this triggered a memory for you. I think I would have liked Poncho.