Cooking dinner with my children is a favorite pastime.  I enjoy preparing meals more than sitting and eating together. Kitchens are less formal and more relaxing than most dining areas.

Both my children are wonderful cooks.  I taught them to cook and let them experiment when they were younger, but their culinary skills have far surpassed mine.  Now I normally watch them cook instead of cooking myself.

Recently my son was chopping lettuce as I leaned against the kitchen counter.  He remarked, “As soon as I wash this knife, I use it again!”  His knife is not special nor expensive, but he has an emotional attachment.   As I listened to him, I smiled.

I was reminded of a knife I purchased for my mother years ago.   I was a newlywed and found myself browsing through a department store happily perusing the kitchen section.     I pawed through everything from small appliances to cloth napkins.

I spied a wooden handled knife with a sharp point and narrow blade.  The knife appeared sturdy and capable of handling my cutting needs.  The name on the packaging read ‘Granny’s Boning Knife’.  The price was reasonable, so I bought one for myself and on impulse grabbed a second for my mother.

Excited, I dropped by my mother’s house to give her the knife.  My mother refused to take the knife unless I accepted payment.   She didn’t mind me buying her a gift, but she was a strong believer in superstitions.

She explained, “If you give someone a knife it will sever your relationship.”  I smiled as I took a dime and happily gave her the knife.  We loved those knives and often discussed the many ways we used them.

After several years, the wonder wore off, but I still loved the knife.  I moved to another state and didn’t get to visit with my mother often.  During a long awaited visit, my mother reached into the kitchen drawer for the knife only to come up empty handed.  She frowned and commented, “My knife isn’t here!”

Mom’s sister who lived down the street had borrowed the knife and apparently not returned it.  I suggested Mom call her and ask if she still had it.  When Mom called her sister, she asked, “Do you still have my Granny’s Boning Knife.”  

I saw Mom’s face break into a grin and heard a giggle.  She laughed into the phone and I wondered what might have set her off.  As she began to talk again I understood.

“No,” she said.  “It’s not our Granny’s knife.  It’s a Granny’s Boning Knife.  That’s the name.”   She explained I bought it for her.   I listened and laughed as well.  My aunt thought since Mom had the knife for years, she should share.  She explained to my mother she didn’t have any mementoes from their granny and it was a great knife.

I have to say that knife is still my favorite and I always think of Mom and Jeanette when I use it.