Wooden Spoons

My husband and I are making mindful downsizing moves as part of moving through daily life, without getting crazed or scheduled about it (I no longer store boxes for high ticket items under the house until said item’s warranty has expired etc). Last night while cramming clean wooden spoons into their crock on the kitchen counter, we paused to go through them. Were there any we could let go of?

Mom gave us a batch of inexpensive bamboo spoons for Christmas of 2016. The quality was such that I sanded them, less bamboo splinters end up in our food. I also immediately tossed half of them, but not all because what if mom noticed? I didn’t want to hurt her feelings in our kitchen.

Last night we pulled the remaining three bamboo spoons from our bursting spoon crock.

This morning, looking at the spoons, it struck me how much I’ve thwarted myself over the last number of years. I’ve placed way, way too much trust (hope?) in mom’s cognition over such things. Part of it, of course, is wanting her to have that cognition, and also being wrapped up in maintaining her dignity far longer than was likely necessary (on a matrix involving memory and safety). And the big one… Fear. I’ve spent a lot of time afraid of her reactions to things, including such mundane choices as throwing out cheap, splintery wooden spoons because they were a Christmas gift.

My sadly increasing trust in the reality of mom’s condition has helped propelled the tasks at hand. This morning’s ‘ah ha’ moment will help me continue with greater confidence.

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