croutons

This Op-Ed article in the NYT yesterday reminds me of home, and my family.

My mom and I stash this plastic doll leg we found in her house (where I grew up) for eachother to find. Under pillows, in luggage, under the fabric dinner napkin- hilarious and creepy every time. Best when you see the foot slyly peeking out. My grandmother and she, and now I, have been exchanging a plastic cauliflower (like the kind that goes along with Playskool kitchens) for thirty years at christmas, elaborately wrapped to deceive its identity until you unwrap it.

But my mom also has lots of random, small containers of old croutons and condiments that she guards when I start trying to streamline her kitchen.