The Day My Mother’s 3-Speed Waring Hand Mixer Died
I remember the day the motor in my mother’s 1970s era Waring 3-speed hand mixer died. She was making butter cookie dough from scratch. A Christmas tradition. On the third batch, the almond colored appliance stopped suddenly, mid-mix. My mother took a short pause, unplugged it, and inspected it carefully. She turned to me and said that it owed her nothing. I remarked that appliances she had from when she married my father were built to last. She slipped off rings that adorned all but her ring finger and quietly began mixing the dough by hand.
5 thoughts on "The Day My Mother’s 3-Speed Waring Hand Mixer Died"
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the wry tone of the poem makes me guess that you are your mother’s daughter
Spot on, Gaby! Spot on! I am a (slightly) taller version of her; she’s 4’11”. Ha!
Thanks for reading! 💜
Oh! Fine haibun with a satisfyingly sardonic turn. Good stuff.
Thanks, Kevin. Glad you enjoyed this one.
Hand mixer, symbol of marriage! Well done.