"Joe, Williams-Sonoma is having a sale." Kaitzer said. "Let's look in there."
My face lost all color, my hands turned white, my eyes dilated, and deep within my sub-conscious, I exploded. 'Noooooooooooo'! I felt like I was dropped from a 10-story building. Splat!
Until that bomb was dropped I had this vision of Kaitzer, the girls and I pursuing Buck, Swiss Army, Case and Gerber knives.
I read somewhere in the teachings of Buddha that to find the road to inner peace, one must accept their fate. So I accepted it and reluctantly entered the Williams-Sonoma store. It didn't work.
The shop was bursting at the seams with women excited to have found their Nirvana. In this wonderland of cooking gadgets the kitchen is the shrine, the cook is the priest and the table the altar. I began to think how Kaitzer felt when I took her and the girls down every aisle in Hartman's Hardware in Mission, Kan. I have to tell ya, it's different, it really is. Hartman's was there since 1926. Walking through the Hartman's door was like stepping into the past. Incidentally, Kaitzer loved it. They had the best collection of Radio-Flyer Wagons I'd ever seen. It appeared as though everything there was stamped, "Made in America."
I was the only guy in Williams-Sonoma. Whether it was my sour face or the fact that I looked helpless, all the sales ladies asked if they could help me.
We found our way to the knife section. I felt like Charlie in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. There were a million knives, a knife for every possibility under heaven. They even had a clam knife, a knife for peeling ginger, apples, strawberries and even jalapeños.
My mom had one knife that she used through 65 years of marriage. She got it as a wedding gift from the Sears catalog in 1938. She used it for everything from making pies and cutting ravioli, to threatening to skin me alive for chewing tobacco.