Keeping Your Knives Sharp

And your memories tender

Issue 16: From Sara Kate

A very early memory of mine is of my grandpa Ted, my mom’s dad, coming over to our house for dinner and going through each of our knives, rubbing the blade with the pad of his thumb, inspecting the edge. He’d set up a little area on the patio table with his whetstone, wrapped carefully in newspaper and lay out all the knives that needed sharpening. My dad would make him a margarita or crack open a Mickey’s Big Mouth beer, and he’d just sit there, working the knives until they cut a smooth line through a piece of scrap paper.

It was a beautiful act of a parent caring for their adult child. I hope to be that kind of mom to my daughter when she’s grown up.