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After a Divorce, Who Gets the KitchenAid?
My KitchenAid is a symbol, a talisman. It’s cherry red, I say, but the official name is Empire Red, and it takes up a significant chunk of my kitchen counter’s limited space. I’ve kept it through my many moves (across the country twice, to Central Asia and back, up and down the East Coast a few times), through my periods of uncertain housing when I lived out of suitcases on someone’s couch, and through my descent from local baking legend to gluten-free grump.
It was a wedding gift. I’d grown up using my mom’s 8-quart white model for baking cookies for church fundraisers, dozens upon dozens of pies for family holidays and birthdays, and loaf after loaf of homemade bread. It was a workhorse—she replaced a bolt in the motor once, but it’s still going strong nearly 30 years of hard use later. Baking was my comfort zone, an escape in the chaos of my huge family, and a way I bridged the awkwardness of being the weird homeschooler when I went to college. Many things will be overlooked if you come bearing cookies, and so that’s how I made friends at first.
* This article was originally published here
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