Read this story at the risk of being pulled into it…smelling, hearing, seeing, feeling…as if this life is flashing before your eyes. Here is an example of how I want to craft stories when I become a real writer…if that day ever comes.
I called my daughter and asked her to check my roast. ” I think it’s gonna taste like grandma’s this time.” I said.
“You’ve never gotten it like grandma’s, mama” she insisted.
” I have a couple of times, check it.” I said. “I think it’s gonna fall apart.”
“You’re right, mama…it is…you did it this time.” she said.
Last week, my cousin asked what my daughter’s favorite cake would be, planning ahead for birthday.
“She loved mama’s pound cake or the thin layer chocolate.” I answered.
Cake and my mama….always consistently rich, no holds barred, exceptionally outspoken, rich in taste and memorable.
You got what you expected, anticipated.
When I think of my mama, I think of cooking. I think of love expressed with joy.
I think of honest, simple, and no secrets…all expectations met.
Satisfied, satiated, blessed even. Her cooking was art.
Her conversations, her opinions, her advice…
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