Rolling Pin Memories

For fifty-five years she rolled the dough flat.

Mixed in a sprinkling of flour to keep the pastry cloth from sticking.

As a girl I remember tapping the cookie cutters in the flour to dust all the edges before cutting out the shapes.

Angels. Gingerbread men. Christmas bells.

In March when we sorted through all Mom's belongings in the kitchen, we found the box of cookie cutters in the back of a drawer underneath the spritz maker and the cheese grater. We opened the cardboard box and spilled out memories.

Reindeer. Hearts. Stars.

Traditions past decorated with red and green sugar, sprinkles, and red hots that melted if you pressed them into the sweet dough before baking.

Two generations sorted through the cookie cutters. I chose one shaped like a Christmas tree. When all the choosing was done I believe it was my brother who took the box with the remaining cutters and tucked it in safely in his suitcase for the flight back to California.

I also chose Mom's rolling pin.

Mom and Dad were married on a Sunday afternoon in November at St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Clark, South Dakota, the weekend before Thanksgiving in 1957. They honeymooned one night at a nearby hotel with money Dad borrowed from his brother. The next night they stayed at a married sister's, sleeping on an iron bed that had been outside, that they carried up the stairs for their second night as a married couple.

The following day the church gave them a wedding shower:

Set of white pillowcases from Gretchen Gildemiester.

1 bud vase from Lowell Mohn and Nancy Lee

2 white sheets from Sigurd and Christine Hanson.

$3 from Aunt Dagney and Uncle Carl.

Ninety-two wedding and shower gifts were listed in the wedding book. "We had everything we needed," Mom declared. "Except a rolling pin."

With Thanksgiving the next day, Mom and Dad traded in a set of snack dishes for a rolling pin at the local store in Clark where Mom had shopped all her life. Dad received a lot of ribbing as the hen-pecked husband who was now going to be kept in line.

That evening Mom picked up her new rolling pin and rolled out the crust for a pumpkin pie.

(Dad and Mom in their first apartment.)

Fifty-five years later, I am now rolling out traditions with that same rolling pin.

When asked about memories of their grandmother, both of my daughters mentioned her hands - hands that cooked, gardened and loved. In their minds, it was impossible to separate my mom from her constantly serving hands.

What do you have in your hands?

A computer? A pen? A garden rake? A phone?

A rolling pin?

Some may joke and say you should use it to keep people in line, but what if, instead, you used it to love?

Are you known for what you hold in your hands?

"And the Lord asked Moses, 'What is in your hand?'" - Exodus 4:2