My hand mixer died Friday. It was trudging heroically through butter, making fresh butter cream frosting, hot pink butter cream frosting which I needed right at that moment to finish birthday party cupcakes. I did not soften the butter ahead of time, so what I was demanding of my hand mixer was to turn yellow colored concrete in a fluffy pink concoction. It soldiered through the butter and powdered sugar and then as upped the speed to up the fluffiness, it began to falter. So I upped the speed a little more and then it went dead in my hand. I panicked, there was still at least a CUP of powdered sugar to add it, so I shook it a little and hit the power boost and got it going. Then it started to sputter, and I smacked it on the top and it died. I bent over and whispered into the dial “please, come on, just little bit more. Give me what you’ve got.” And she sang to life. (That’s right; the hand mixer is a woman. Do you seriously think a man would suck it up and keep going? No he’d be rolling around on the floor covered in food coloring and powdered sugar as though no hand mixer had ever been so pained before.) With a little more coaxing and a little help from the multiple positions of the mixer and the switch, we made it through and I had a whole bowl of perfect hot pink butter cream frosting.
I announced from the kitchen, “Honey, I think the mixer has finally died. The mixer that has been with me longer than you. I don’t think I can do anything with it now.”
My husband replied, “No, I don’t want any.”
I carefully unplugged it and wiped it down one last time. I removed the beaters and handed them to the waiting girls to delight in the smudges of frosting on them. I laughed a little at the old saying “A good mom lets you lick the beaters, a great mom turns them off first.” I wrapped the cord around its cold clean body and laid it respectfully on the kitchen counter.
Now you ask yourself, why the drama over a $10 appliance? Why care about a hand mixer when you have a very nice stand mixer in the box in the garage? This is the first appliance I bought myself. It was on the list of “Shit you have to have when you’re a grown-up even though you don’t know what to use it for.” And I didn’t use it for the first 4 years I lived on my own. Blenders are much more useful when making margaritas. I used it for the first time when I moved in with my now husband and was introduced to the Duffy Family Jell-O desert. A simple thing really. Its lime Jell-O, dream whip, pears and cream cheese blended together and placed in a mold. To be served at any and all family gatherings. And it was an absolute must for my husband to be able to enjoy family dinner. The first time I met his grandmother, she told me how to make it, and I dutifully wrote down the directions. I then tried to make the desert at our first dinner. Drained the pears, used the syrup to make the Jell-O, put it in the fridge while I used the hand mixer to whip the dream whip and then add the cream cheese, added the pears, then added that to the Jell-o and blended it all together. Looked like the right color, tasted right to me, pretty good actually, and I proudly brought it to the table. My husband took a big helping and pronounced that the pear chunks were too big and there were large clumps of actual Jell-O that had not properly blended in with the cream cheese dream whip mixture. So my hand mixer and I embarked on a 3 times a year venture in perfecting the Duffy family Jell-O desert. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, I brought my attempt to the table and each time I had found a new way to get it wrong. There was the year that every single pear piece sat on the bottom of the bowl. The year that it didn’t set and it was like soup. The really horrible Easter that saw a pink Jell-o desert come to the table. Through it all, my hand mixer hung in there with me. Then finally came the Christmas of 2009. We had eaten dinner and my husband helped himself to a scoop of the desert (now mind you, he still ate all of the failures, except the pink one) and he ate it, and I said “Alright, what did I do this year?” And he said “Nothing, it’s good.” And went on eating. I jumped up on my chair, did the happy dance and had a celebratory glass of wine and then grabbed the beaters out of the sink and soaked them in their own little glass of wine.
So good bye hand mixer, my friend. When I screw up the Jell-O desert this year, it will be in your honor.
I announced from the kitchen, “Honey, I think the mixer has finally died. The mixer that has been with me longer than you. I don’t think I can do anything with it now.”
My husband replied, “No, I don’t want any.”
I carefully unplugged it and wiped it down one last time. I removed the beaters and handed them to the waiting girls to delight in the smudges of frosting on them. I laughed a little at the old saying “A good mom lets you lick the beaters, a great mom turns them off first.” I wrapped the cord around its cold clean body and laid it respectfully on the kitchen counter.
Now you ask yourself, why the drama over a $10 appliance? Why care about a hand mixer when you have a very nice stand mixer in the box in the garage? This is the first appliance I bought myself. It was on the list of “Shit you have to have when you’re a grown-up even though you don’t know what to use it for.” And I didn’t use it for the first 4 years I lived on my own. Blenders are much more useful when making margaritas. I used it for the first time when I moved in with my now husband and was introduced to the Duffy Family Jell-O desert. A simple thing really. Its lime Jell-O, dream whip, pears and cream cheese blended together and placed in a mold. To be served at any and all family gatherings. And it was an absolute must for my husband to be able to enjoy family dinner. The first time I met his grandmother, she told me how to make it, and I dutifully wrote down the directions. I then tried to make the desert at our first dinner. Drained the pears, used the syrup to make the Jell-O, put it in the fridge while I used the hand mixer to whip the dream whip and then add the cream cheese, added the pears, then added that to the Jell-o and blended it all together. Looked like the right color, tasted right to me, pretty good actually, and I proudly brought it to the table. My husband took a big helping and pronounced that the pear chunks were too big and there were large clumps of actual Jell-O that had not properly blended in with the cream cheese dream whip mixture. So my hand mixer and I embarked on a 3 times a year venture in perfecting the Duffy family Jell-O desert. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, I brought my attempt to the table and each time I had found a new way to get it wrong. There was the year that every single pear piece sat on the bottom of the bowl. The year that it didn’t set and it was like soup. The really horrible Easter that saw a pink Jell-o desert come to the table. Through it all, my hand mixer hung in there with me. Then finally came the Christmas of 2009. We had eaten dinner and my husband helped himself to a scoop of the desert (now mind you, he still ate all of the failures, except the pink one) and he ate it, and I said “Alright, what did I do this year?” And he said “Nothing, it’s good.” And went on eating. I jumped up on my chair, did the happy dance and had a celebratory glass of wine and then grabbed the beaters out of the sink and soaked them in their own little glass of wine.
So good bye hand mixer, my friend. When I screw up the Jell-O desert this year, it will be in your honor.
My hand mixer is a good friend, too. It must be about 40 years old. My mother-in-law purchased it for me at a garage sale the year Chad and I were married. It is a JC Penney model exactly like the one my mom has and still uses that she got for a wedding gift in 1972. It's still chugging along and it got me through two batches of birthday cupcakes this past weekend. Got to love well made appliances.
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