Back In Time
I often find myself fondly remembering my past. Brief flashes of things I’ve seen, done, felt, tasted, smelled, or heard.
One evening as I watched TV, I spotted an intriguing item for sale. It was a large mason style jar topped with a bright red rubber ring. Perched on top stood a handle for grasping with a side crank knob. I knew immediately that I had to have the Butter Making Churn. Off I scurried to my computer and quickly purchased this wonderful contraption.
I do so love fresh butter; well truth be told, I just love butter. But distant memories of the farm fresh butter from my Grandma Webb’s kitchen teased my taste buds. One of those flashes from my past.
Excitement filled me as I opened the package. Undaunted, I began my quest to make my own butter. Disappointment set in immediately because the directions were sparse; no, that’s not true, they were non-existing. So I headed back to my computer. ‘You Tube’ abounded with helpful videos on how to make your own butter. After a few minutes or viewing said helpful scenarios, I gathered my timer, extra jar, bowl, and container of heavy cream. With a broad smile, I carefully poured the liquid into my mason jar gadget. Securing the top in place, I was ready to begin my great kitchen adventure.
Now, I knew the videos had said that I would need to crank my cream for ten minutes. But, in my mind’s eye, that dwindled down to just a short while. Crank, crank, turn, turn. I checked my timer. Only two minutes had gone by. It had inched by like a slug on the sidewalk. I was not deterred. Onward and upward. Three minutes, four minutes, five minutes more and the cranking became more difficult. My crank was giving up on me; no, just user error. I discovered I had to turn it backwards. Six minutes, seven minutes, shifting back and forth between cranking forwards and backwards. Eight minutes, will this ever end?
I noticed that suddenly the cranking became easier. Success at last, I had made butter. Popping two slices of bread into the toast, I awaited the pleasure of spreading my hard won prize on to crispy, hot toast. Ummmm, tasty. The remains of the butter fit into a very small container. It only made a meager half a stick at most. Not much of a prize for so much work.
Washing and drying the churn pieces, I carefully placed them in the cupboard. Probably never to be used again. Store bought butter tasted just as good and was quicker and a whole lot easier.
There is a moral to my tale. I use to think that the good old days were much better and made me happier. But, I found going back in time didn’t live up to my expectations. I can’t reclaim the past. I just have to live and enjoy today. One day, ‘these’ will be the good old days.