A Tale of Two Mixers

How a Simple Kitchen Appliance Offers a Lesson in Authenticity

Welcome to my kitchen.  The room where I spend most of my time.  I love to cook, bake, try out new recipes and experiment with new ingredients.  If you were standing in my kitchen a few weeks ago you would notice a well-worn white Kitchen-Aid Classic stand mixer.  It would be sitting on a small antique table, flanked on the left by aluminum canisters with black plastic lids that reveal the contents inside, flour, sugar and coffee.  The white mixer stood there with a  kind of regal readiness awaiting the call to action.  On standby for the last 25 years to mix, beat, and knead faithfully the contents of its metal bowl.

That is what you would have seen a couple of weeks ago.  Today the scene would be much the same except for one marked difference.  Instead of the white Kitchen-Aid Classic stand mixer you will now see the new passion red Kitchen-Aid Artisan mixer.  The new mixer flanked on the left with the aluminum canisters, all sitting on the small antique table.  At first glance, it is just a mixer change, from old to new, from white to red.  But it is more than that, much more. Here is the story of the mixer.

About 25 years ago, I was a stay-at-home mother of 3, this was a couple of years before my youngest was born. I fancied a red Kitchen-Aid stand mixer for my birthday. It was only thing I wanted that year, knowing it was expensive I asked my mother if everyone could go together to purchase the mixer.  Both of my grandmothers were still living at the time and always welcomed gift ideas. Having one gift from everyone was my choice, especially since it was exactly what I wanted.  When my birthday arrived, I was cautiously optimistic.  There has been a long history in my family of getting almost what you asked for, but just not quite what you wanted.  I noticed it right away, one large gift sitting there on the floor.  As I lifted the gift onto my lap, I immediately noted it’s weight.  Certainly, the weight of my dreamed about red mixer. The smiles on my grandmothers faces also pointed to the contents of the package. I was excited, yet also realistic.  As I opened the box, carefully removing the Styrofoam and wrapping there it was, my mixer, or almost my mixer.  It was a stand mixer; it was a Kitchen-Aid and it was white.  I asked for red, but it was white.  With both of grandmothers looking on, I pulled out a smile from deep inside me.  I have had a lot of practice with digging deep for the reaction that I am supposed to have.  My mother then confidently announced that white is better, and I would probably regret having red, because as she put it, “you won’t always have a red kitchen.”

That was 25 years ago, and we have lived several homes since then.  I have had several kitchens as well.  My kitchen of 1997 was apple themed; my kitchen of 2002 was Coke themed; my kitchen of 2010 was fruit themed, and my current kitchen is cherry themed.  Red has been the singular decorating thread that has run through all these kitchens for all these years.

Over the years, I haven’t thought much about that white mixer, I use it every week to mix and knead my sourdough bread.  Yes, my quarantine starter is still going strong. I have used my mixer to make countless batches of cookies, cakes, breads, sweet rolls, muffins and more over this quarter century.  It has been a trusted friend and partner in adventure as I have tried new recipes, some more successful than others.  I have loved, cared for, and appreciated my mixer.  It is practically an antique now. The disappointment long faded, replaced by dependability, steadfastness, and familiarity.  On the surface the disappointment had faded, but it was always there, laying in waiting with a plethora of other unfelt feelings I am finally giving space and time for. 

I have been saving up for a new mixer for literally years.  Other things, seemingly more important have taken precedent while part of me has struggled with guilt for wanting something just because I wanted it.  My white mixer was still working well, if you don’t count the rubber band that holds the arm in the locked position.  Which I did not count as I figured out how to lock it in place with a rubber band.  Not a regular rubber band but the kind that come on produce.  A sturdy, strong rubber band. 

This year for my birthday, after receiving a little money I once again had enough money saved (in my sock drawer) to purchase a red mixer. I talked to my husband who has always advocated for getting what you want, and we ordered the passion red, artisan stand mixer.  Exactly the one I wanted.  Just as red as red can be.  And not a subtle, understated red, but a red that seems to be shouting, “look at me.” 

When it was delivered, I startled even myself when I shouted “it’s here” surprising the delivery driver as well. I carefully carried it inside, noting the weight just as I had done all those years ago with my white mixer.  I opened it up, removing the Styrofoam and wrapping.  I admired it, I moved my hands across the sleek, shiny finish and I cried.  I cried for my 30-year-old self, opening my white mixer all those years ago.  I cried for the many disappointments I have had over the years.  I cried because I felt so much in that moment.  I let myself feel all of it.  I was present experiencing real emotions as they surfaced.  I allowed myself to feel joy and I embraced the sadness too.  Giving them both permission, without judgment. 

I shared this story for no other reason than an acknowledgment of the damage that is done when we do not validate our feelings.  The white mixer vs. the red mixer is not really the point.  I understand my privilege here.  I was grateful for my white mixer. I am grateful for my new passion red mixer too. But I have spent a lifetime adjusting.  As a pastor’s wife, I adjusted to each of the parsonages we lived in.  I changed the way in which I lived each time we moved from city to country, from urban to rural and everything in between.  I am great at adjusting.  I am also great on not acknowledging how I feel.

I am learning to be different.  I am learning to acknowledge and validate my feelings.  I am stopping in the middle of an experience and asking myself, “what am I feeling right now?” It is far easier for me to look to other’s and imagine what they would want me to feel in any situation, conforming my face and my body to show that emotion.  But being real and present is harder. 

On the surface it seems like the story of two mixers.  And it is.  But it is also a lesson in honesty.  A lesson in authenticity. A lesson in recognizing and validating my feelings. 

It’s time to start my sourdough. My passion red mixer will hum as it kneads the dough and this afternoon the smell of fresh bread will fill my kitchen. And I will smile with abandon, and allow my joy to radiate, no holding back.