My Mother’s Spice Tins
August 1, 2024
In 2021, Benjamin Dreyer, the former managing editor and copy chief at Random House, wrote a beautiful piece for his Substack newsletter. “The First Withouts” describes his life during the year after his mother, Diana, died at 91.
In his first dream about her, mother and son went right back to FaceTiming each other, she joking that she couldn’t make their next dinner date. Surely this is proof that our own bodies and brains are designed to support us, offering comfort through humour just when we need it most.
Other memories about Diana tumbled forth during that year of firsts: past conversations about her tastiest recipe (“You roasted CANNED potatoes for us?!”). Then there was the frequently made observation that Anne Frank was born five weeks before his mother. And yet, there was Diana Dreyer, decades later, “living on the Upper West Side, free to read her books, play computer solitaire, and make the occasional trip to Broadway or Lincoln Center to take in this play or that musical.”
One detail that Benjamin posted confirmed all the ways that orphaned adults are unknowingly connected. Diana liked to dust those roast potatoes with paprika. It was one of her son’s strongest sensory memories of her. When he was cleaning out her apartment, he found a 40-year-old tin of McCormick’s paprika.
Like Benjamin, I was struck by the time capsule hidden away in my mother’s kitchen. Our 40-year-old spice tins were from Club House (“Our Mission Is to Help Canadians Live Happier and Healthier Lives Through Rich Flavours.”) Benjamin took a picture of Diana’s tins (above), and I made a drawing of my mum’s (below). The humour of the moment inspired each of us to make a record of the life and times of our parents. And for anyone who enjoys a company’s branding history, there’s that.
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