Flour Sifter


I love using this sifter. Its metal has dents, and there are stains and marks that came from my Bubby and Zeidy’s hands. I inherited the sifter when my Zeidy moved to Israel at the age of 92 and we gathered to pack up his apartment. The sifter had been in his kitchen for years and was likely from his home on Roxanna Road in Washington DC, which is where my memories of my grandparents began. I can picture them in a house with green shutters, sitting on the steps awaiting our arrival. That house remains one of my happy places. It was filled with warmth and secrets. Whenever we visited, there was always a plate of Bubby cookies waiting for us. While the cookies were named after my Bubby, they were a partnership project. My Bubby never learned to cook as a girl. The war broke out before her mother taught her how to keep house. It was always a sensitive topic for her. Luckily my Zeidy had some experience working as a caterer, and after they married and moved from Germany to America, he patiently taught her how to cook. He would always give her the credit, but everything had his touch. And it’s that touch that I like to think about each time I use the sifter.

Year: 1955

– Miriam B.

Relationship:  Grandchild of im/migrant Grandchild of im/migrant