TheBanyanTree: Sort Of About A Mixer

[Mike Pingleton]

Wow Pammie, I'm left groping for word but one part of my brain says
'that mixer can be repaired!'  And KitchenAid lists the following
authorized repair centers in your state:

Authorized Appliance Servicenter
1020 Tuckaseegee Road
Charlotte, NC 28266
Phone: 704-377-4501

Authorized Appliance Servicenter
904 South Marshall Street
Winston-Salem, NC 27117
Phone: 336-725-5396

Authorized Commercial Equipment Service
1611 Castle Hayne Road
Suite F1
Wilmington, NC 28403
Phone: 910-343-4118
Fax: 910-343-5794

I hope your dad's mixer can whirl on for years to come.

-Mike


On Sun, Nov 7, 2010 at 10:15 AM, Pam Lawley <pamj.lawley at gmail.com> wrote:
> So, my KitchenAid mixer is dying...  yes, I suppose that there are more
> pressing issues in the world today, but right here, in my house, to me, this
> is pretty major.
>
> The father I grew up with was a jerk.  Of course, he probably thought that
> his father was a jerk as well, and unfortunately, he was only taught one way
> to raise children.  Be in charge and beat obedience out of them!  I would
> never have dreamed of talking to my father the way my children sometimes
> talk to me.  And if I had ever reacted to my children talking that way, the
> way my father would have reacted, well, I'd be in jail right now probably.
>  But times, they are a changin'...
>
> I remember bloodied lips and bloodied noses, and bruises.  A lot of bruises.
>  And beatings.  My stomach just dropped, right now, just remembering back to
> those beatings.  And they were the same beatings that my gather got at the
> hand of his father as well.  NOT a cheery way to raise children.  We weren't
> a 'touchy-feely' lot, and nobody ever told anybody that they were loved or
> appreciated. But somehow, my two siblings and I managed to grow up.  Oh, we
> all have our issues, trust me!  I don't think you can grow up with that much
> 'dysfunction' and not!
>
> The kicker is, that I grew up loving that man, and craving his approval!  I
> was also the middle child, and from what I've read, a pretty textbook
> 'pleaser'.  My mission in life has been to "keep the peace" and do whatever
> I could, in whatever situation I found myself in, to make everybody happy.
>  Silly, a person can't "MAKE" anybody do or be anything!
>
> (A conversation with my children's father way back when:  Him:  "Are you
> trying to make me mad?!?!?".  And me:   "No, if I could MAKE you something
> I'd MAKE you turn the TV off and change your son's diaper!")
>
> Anyway, I've gone through life feeling a lot of moments of panic, and my
> first thought was, "I'll bake cookies!".  I'm not sure WHY I thought baking
> cookies would make everything alright, but it's always been my first "go to"
> happy thought for keeping the peace.  There you have it!
>
> But my father... He drank a lot, and he smoked.  There was always a bottle
> of Jim Beam in the house, and I can remember many mornings watching him take
> a shot.  He said it was for "medicinal purposes only".  Whatever.  I always
> thought that I never saw him drunk, but the truth is that maybe I never saw
> him sober.  He was a big eater - strictly a 'meat and potoatoes' kind of
> guy.  The foods that I remember liking in my childhood were foods I ate in
> the lunchroom at school.  (We had quite healthy and varied lunches back
> then!)  Oh, we were fed just fine at home, but it was never anything
> original.  Just the basics that my father liked.  Except for canned
> mushrooms.  I remember weekends when my mom made spaghetti sauce.  Cans and
> cans of tomatoes and sauces all dumped into a big pot and set to simmer all
> day.  And she always threw in canned mushrooms.  My father HATED them so I'm
> not exactly sure how she dared displease him and use them, but I remember
> every time we had spaghetti he would pick through the sauce, claim he got
> EVERY mushroom from the can, and he'd put them on her plate.
>
> Anyway, suffice it to say that my father was a bastard - but a really
> charming and likable guy! - and we all lived in fear of pissing him off.  He
> spent 24 years in the Army (which probably didn't help his disposition any)
> and then retired and started his own wallpaper hanging business.  He worked
> hard and he played hard, and enjoyed golf on the weekends.
>
> And then, in 1982, karma dealt him a little payback (okay, so maybe it had
> nothing to do with karma) and he had a stroke.  And it was a pretty
> debilitating stroke at that, in the brain stem.  While it was touch-and-go
> for a few hours, he lived, but he lived a very different life and all the
> rules changed.  He suffered no paralysis, but one side of his body remained
> 'numb' for the rest of his life.  And something in his palate was screwed up
> for months and he couldn't swallow.  He would chew and spit - he carried
> that damn cup around forever and somehow we all adapted to the grossness of
> it.  They sent him to a hypnotist after awhile thinking that so much time
> had passed that he was afraid to swallow.  I went with him for that and
> watched the whole process.  It didn't work well and he continued to spit,
> and hack and cough when things 'tickled' the back of his throat.  But
> eventually, though it was never THE 'red letter day' we'd anticipated, he
> needed the cup less and less until he just didn't need it anymore.
>
> He also never walked again without a cane.  His balance was screwy and he
> always looked drunk, sort of going from Point A to Point B, via Point C.  He
> found it was a little challenging to be the Jerk In Charge would people
> could outrun you!  And were stronger than you.  And had more balance than
> you too!!  My very favorite story from mother was the day they argued and it
> all just came bubbling up and she stood up to him - she, his main
> care-giver! - and shouted in his face, "F**K YOU!  F**K YOU!  F**K YOU!"  Of
> course, then she ran, but he ended up laughing at the absurdity of it all,
> and in time, came to appreciate her.
>
> And his kids too.  Perhaps it helped that I - who was the only one of us
> three who had ever attempted it! (because I was a suck-up trying to please
> him!) - talked to him.  And I told him a lot of things that *I* had kept
> bottled up inside.  One conversation particularly was pretty cathartic.  I
> explained to him that I did NOT want to raise my children like he raised us.
>  I wanted them to be able to BE children - and that meant NOT sitting
> quietly at three (he used to LOVE to brag about how people thought that we
> were SO well-behaved as children!), spilling the occasional glass of milk,
> and being energetic and running around and testing boundaries SAFELY without
> fear of blood!  And I told him how I made sure to tell my children EVERY DAY
> that they were special and loved.  I'll always remember his question, "But
> Pam, didn't you *know* I loved you?"  And me, "Dad, was I supposed to be
> able to read your mind?"
>
> It was sort of like finding that the nice guy we just KNEW had to be
> suppressed underneath the bastard, finally came out. It wasn't easy at first
> - it felt so damn STRANGE! - but I always made it a point to TELL him that I
> loved him, and always told me the same.  I had always been his
> self-professed 'favorite' -no surprise there!  *I* was the only one of the
> three whose life mission was to PLEASE him, my older sister and younger
> brother reacted to his personality just the opposite, and did everything
> they could to get trouble and anger him!  Anyway, in those last 14 years of
> his life, we became even closer and found we had a lot of things in common.
>  (Funny, I also ended up the one with the worst memory!  My sister relates
> stories of hateful, ugly things he did in my childhood and I simply have NO
> memory whatsoever of them!!  [Wouldn't a shrink have a fine time with all
> that?!?!])
>
> After his stroke he had lots of doctor's appointments, and some of them were
> at Duke, a major medical center here in North Carolina, a few hours from
> their house.  One day, after an appointment, they stopped at a small cafe
> for lunch, and my dad ordered quiche.  It was something that he would
> *never* have eaten pre-stroke, and for whatever reason, he found it easier
> to chew and digest!  So my mom came home hunting up quiche recipes to make
> for him since she was always on the lookout for things that caused the least
> amount of coughing and gagging.
>
> But my mother still worked full-time, so it came to father to find things to
> swallow.  Their kitchen was relatively small and he could stand up and have
> a counter within easy reaching distance whichever direction he might have
> started to stumble.  And then, a gourmet cook was born!  First he started
> with fruit juices, combining bottles and bottles of different flavors trying
> for something new and original.  (Another note here - he tried to pour a
> little vodka into that juice but quickly found out that his already-unsteady
> legs didn't need any help!!  He big drinking days were past.)  And then,
> when he was able to swallow on his own more and more, his cooking got more
> creative as well.  Oh, he was still a basic 'meat and potatoes' guy, but he
> was at least willing to experiment and try new things.  Including mushrooms.
>  If he cooked red meat, then first he was sauteing a pan full of sliced
> mushrooms and onions in butter!!   Yes, the man who cringed at a tiny bite
> of canned mushroom suddenly couldn't cook without a pound of fresh!
>
> And then he branched out into baking.  He actually took a cake decorating
> class from Wilton, and even managed to show PATIENCE with the hand that
> constantly shook!  (Ever tried to hold a bag of frosting steady with shaking
> hands?!)  The kitchen became HIS, and he collected every gadget and
> appliance he could find!   Including his very own KitchenAid lift-stand
> mixer!  A heavy-duty 4.5 quart Pro Series!  She was a beauty - powerful and
> sturdy!  I remember the first time I saw it, and I told him, "When you die,
> I want THIS!"   Neither my mother or either of my siblings was big into
> baking so it was never a big fight to begin with.
>
> And when he died, I carried that mixer home.  I've been trying to figure out
> how old it might be.  His stroke was in '82, and he died in '96.  Split the
> difference and say '90??  I dunno.  But it has lived a long and useful life!
>  I also inherited all his Wilton decorating tools, and decorated frosting is
> mixed for 7 minutes.  Multiply that by dozens and dozens of recipes.  And
> the cakes and cookies and even mashed potatoes I've whipped up.  Hours and
> hours and hours of mixing.
>
> But now it's starting to die.  I made a Mexican Hot Chocolate Pound Cake
> last week and was quite saddened to hear the motor whining.  (Another note:
>  A friend's son made up a recipe for Hot Chocolate cookies - and he threw
> some cayenne in there for a wonderful 'tickle' effect in swallowing.  When I
> saw the cake recipe in my recent copy of _Southern Living_ magazine, I
> copied his idea and tossed a teaspoon of cayenne in with the cinnamon!!
>  WONDERFUL!)  I've started pricing them - they range into the hundreds!
>  Some of their models have beautiful color choices - including purple! - but
> not in the model that I want.
>
> And NOT getting a KitchenAid is simply not an option.  Having lasted all
> these years, it's proven that it's worth the money.  And if dad was still
> around I'm sure he'd be disappointed if I didn't.  Not that I'm still living
> to please him - it's just one of the lessons he managed to embed on my
> brain:  'It only costs a nickel more to go first class.'  Actually, I've
> found that's really only true at the post office, but the spirit of the
> point lives on.
>
> Pam
>