Cooking is a once child's play and adult joy.
And cooking done with care is an act of love.
And cooking done with care is an act of love.
Craig Claiborne
Mealtime brings back many happy memories. When I was growing up, some of my happiest moments were at the table. A glass of milk was always spilt - never failed. It brought laughter because it always happened. "Never cry over spilt milk" was a quote I heard almost everyday.
The table was a place where we shared our lives, told our stories, listened, and learned. Sometimes we laughed with joy. Other times we listened while someone cried. It was a place where we were required to gather, and we did so, without questioning, but anticipating what we will hear or learn or share.
My dad was the best story teller - stories about his childhood, growing up during the depression. Even though he had a tough childhood, he remembers the good times. They raised chickens, had many pets, and helped others in need. My grandma must have been a great cook - he passed down many of her recipes that we still make today.
My siblings' children are grown, and times together are precious. Someday I want to have family meals once a month in a dining room large enough to hold the ones I love. Everyone that can come, will come, and we will share our stories and lives. We will listen and learn. Someday I will have a table surrounded by family, laughing and crying, joking and listening, with children of every age. It is a dreams I intend to make a reality. The invitation will be open. No one will be expected, but everyone will be asked to attend.
And I will remember our family table - the place I felt loved.
Recipes
I found this video site about depression cooking. This lady is adorable, and I hope you enjoy her as much as I do.
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