From early childhood writing was my joy and my solace. As I moved through life, I cherished those spare moments when I could grab a pen and any bit of paper to capture an inspiration or memory. Some of my happiest moments, as well as my moments of sorrow are recorded on old notebook paper. With the advent of the internet and personal blogs, I have found a new outlet for these ponderings which used to remain tucked away in notebooks and drawers. In my older years, I have made an attempt to organize these various pieces of my life so that they are more accessible -- how many memories I have tucked away. From time to time, I will share one of my old musings on this blog. The one which follows here was written in the late 1990's.
"I pull the fragrant loaves of bread from the oven, marveling at their perfect form -- loaves that were a soft dough just two hours ago. I stir the simmering soup on the stove, breathing in the musky steam that rises from the pan. I ladle some soup into a smaller kettle, place this in a box, crumpling newspapers around the kettle, secure the cover, and place a still warm loaf of bread on top. As my husband delivers the box to his ill mother, I imagine her spirits lifting slightly as she heats the soup and breaks off a piece of warm bread, feeling my love for her in the warmth of the food on this blustery spring evening.
I glance into the living room and watch my daughter at her easel. I envy her talent. I am awestruck at the drawings that spring from her fingers. Today she is painting a portrait of our house. Her intensity, the delicacy of her grasp on the brush, her stillness -- these fascinate me. I am thrilled that she can draw and paint, coming from a mother who can do neither, and yet always wished I could make moments stand still on canvas. This is her talent, her skill, her art -- mine lies in the kitchen, kneading, stirring, seasoning, making art in nourishing my loved ones."
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