In a surreal moment I decided to write a poem about my Mum's old mixing bowl that I'm pretty sure is older than me. It's glass, with the initial JAJ on the bottom. Looks very Pyrex-y, but I think it probably predate Pyrex by a few years...

So here ya go...

Mum’s Mixing Bowl

A thousand scratches side by side

Meeting points like railway lines

Across the glass a tale to tell

Every line a different smell

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined

Fingers sliding around the sides

Picking up the gritty prize –

Remnants left to my devour

Butter, sugar, eggs and flour

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined

All at once, the garage floor

Drip, drip, drip and then to pour

The Mini’s oil, all spent and black

My mother’s face? A mirror cracked

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined

Back to kitchen, lemons juiced with

Citric acid, heated through

To boiling point and then to cool

For lemonade to take to school

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined

Then currants dropped in, raisins too

Cherries, almond flakes for you

Tinsel wrapped and tinned to keep

For Christmas, then ‘til Easter week

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined

Forward thirty years and more

The bowl still holds and just keeps score

The owner gone, but left behind

This bowl with centre scratched and lined

Stirring, scratching, stir and grind

Bowl and food and tales entwined