My story starts in North Vancouver in the early 1990s, when a kindly and cheerful woman named Ruth brought me home to her kitchen. I was a 1989 KitchenAid ProLine Mixer KSM5, and I felt at home right away. I knew then and there that I would be doing what I was meant to do: mix, stir, whip, and create delights for Ruth’s family and friends.
Ruthie was an amazing lady, full of fun and laughter, with family and friends constantly in and out of her house. I soon found out that she loved to bake. She made sure there was always something fresh and available for the many grandchildren dropping by; the neighbours, who she was always chattering to; and the groups she loved to bring food to, including the quilting ladies and the Salvation Army people she volunteered with.
We hit it off immediately
I was always busy, but my job was easy. Rock cookies were Ruthie’s favourite, followed by oatmeal raisin cookies. We whipped those up all the time, and we made birthday cakes a few times a month. It was heaven. Sometimes I was given a rest while Ruth made pies. She made pie crust by hand, but I knew she’d come back to me again soon. I was happy and knew I was loved. I loved her back.
And oh, the stories and laughter I was able to listen in on! Ruthie cared so much for her family and friends. In that kitchen, I heard jokes, ongoing tales about the lives of those who were important to Ruthie, and sometimes even tears. I remember it all—the dinner parties, the visits from out-of-town family members, the holidays (especially Christmas), the sunny days when the kitchen windows and doors were thrown wide open. I was living the dream!
And then, one day, everything suddenly stopped
For a while, there were a lot of people in the house, some of them crying. After days had passed, I finally realized Ruthie was gone. For months, I sat in the butler’s pantry, covered up. It was so quiet. I yearned to work, to swirl sugars and eggs together, to beat whipping cream into frothy peaks, to blend flours and oats, to hear laughter and voices again.
Finally, I heard a voice I recognized, saying “Yes, I’d love to take it.” It was Ruthie’s granddaughter, Suzy. She used to visit us twice a week. She’d bring her laundry for old Mrs. Washing Machine, tell Ruthie stories about her single life and her job at Big Company over dinner, and help around the house and garden.
My new life began, but Suzy didn’t put me to work as often as Ruthie had, and I grew dusty—how I hated dust on me. Eventually, I was put into a cardboard box and sealed up. It was so dark. What agony! Was I being sent off to the appliance graveyard? I didn’t want to wither away. I had so much life left in me.
After what seemed like an eternity, I woke up to find myself in a new kitchen, with Suzy beaming at me. I was dusted off and given my own special corner, and finally, Suzy flicked on my switch, and we started our dance together. At first, it was just small things: the occasional batch of cookies, some muffins, an attempt at a Christmas cake . . . .
It felt good to get my parts moving again. Suzy was busy, so she and I took it slowly for a few years. I think she loved her other appliances more: Mr. Stove and Ms. Dishwasher were in constant use. I didn’t complain, for I was happy watching Suzy’s little blond-haired boy growing up in front of me.
And then, just like that, life changed again
Suddenly, I was making cookies once a week, every week. Not only that, I was making devil’s food cakes for ladies who came to visit. And banana muffins. And lemon loaves. And more cakes! My goodness, it was just like Ruthie’s again. Suzy and I made so many chocolate chip oatmeal cookies for the little boy and his friends. There was even a big yellow dog in the house who would lick my whisk attachment—how fun! My life was full once again, and I loved every minute.
Suzy, the boy, and I moved twice more, but we kept on baking together, every week, trying new recipes along with our old favourites. The little boy grew up and got his own kitchen, but he still visits Suzy and me in Comox, where we now live, and when he does, we still make his beloved chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.
Now, I’m an old girl, but I’ve still got beautiful memories of baking with Ruthie. My connection with Suzy is as strong as ever, and I know that every time Suzy flicks my switch on, she’s thinking about those special days in Ruthie’s kitchen, too.
