"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" (-T S Eliot)

“Involuntary memory is a conception of human memory in which cues encountered in everyday life evoke recollections of the past without conscious effort.”

I always remember meals I’ve eaten on auspicious occasions in my life.

I can tell you the exact meal I had the night my son was born on January 9^th, 1977. We had moved that same day, and were exhausted. My sister-in-law and her family graciously cooked for us, and welcomed us into their home: there was a wonderful chicken divan, a delicious salad, warm dinner rolls and strawberry shortcake for dessert. Eric arrived several weeks early, and I wound up going into labor that night, amidst a snowstorm on SuperBowl Sunday. I have often thought he was just anxious to see the new digs. Had I known he was going to make his appearance that night, I might not have eaten all of that meal, but thankfully, I was ignorant of his impending arrival, and I was able to savour the smells and delicate flavors without guilt. I not only enjoyed the lovely meal, but I wound up with a beautiful son as well.

When I met my then-husband’s Great Aunts from Norway, sometime back in the late 1970’s, they fixed us a wonderful poached salmon and homemade hollandaise sauce, accompanied by steamed asparagus, a delicious tossed salad and homemade dressing. Helga and Rachel were simple but fabulous cooks. For dessert, they made a sumptuous Floating Island. They gently cradled the meringues in a large spoon, and poached them, placing them ever so gently into the smooth custard. It was delicate and light and creamy all at once. I can still envision the china they set on the table, the silver cutlery, and the wine glasses. Then, after the meal, in those moments of complete comfort and relaxation, we all sat in their elegant dining room, with its Norwegian furnishings and artwork by Gunhilde, and began to delicately move our wet index fingers around the rims of our water glasses to produce haunting glass music sounds. Each glass held varying amounts of water, and playfully, we all held an impromptu concert. Octogenarians all, they were creative, fun-loving women, and I think of them with great fondness, always remembering that magical evening. Their surname was Stensland, and their home on Staten Island was Stenhaven. We all called it that, and we wound up giving Eric Stensland as his middle name to let the name live on.

I cherish the people who've touched me in my life and the special occasions and foods we share, and I relive those memories with fondness. I suppose that's why I make such an effort to recollect all the details of our times together. The Aunts and my husband are all gone now, but their impact on me remains strong.

“I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.” Not quite the meaning Eliot had for it in Prufrock, but it resonates with me in many ways.

(-T S Eliot)