Last night I was making chicken soft tacos for dinner (miracles do happen... all of you, believe...) and I had seasoned my sliced raw chicked with plenty of salt, pepper, and garlic powder. I put them in the pan that used to be my Granny's and started them nice and low as I cut up fresh vegetables. I felt so... Martha Stewart, minus jail time. Innocently making dinner, listening to Lion King 1 1/2 as my children watched in the next room, waiting for the honey to get home when -- I smelled it. The smell of my Grandma's amazing cooking. The room filled with the smell of love, and I'm not kidding -- I felt like I was home again. It smelled exactly like so many meals she had prepared. It smelled so good. It smelled like I was sitting in the rocking chair watching her cook. I don't know if it was the exact mixture of salt, pepper, and garlic powder, the long slow cook, or maybe even a magical pan. But it smelled like I had made something like my Grandma would have made. I stood there for a long time, filled with sense memory. And I felt pretty proud. And I cemented exactly what I had done to memory. And then I continued with dinner. And I made it clear 'til I sat down to put my head in my hands and cry real hard for about three seconds before the children came back in and the husband got in from the car.
I never realized until she was gone just how much my Grandma used food as her language of love. She put her whole heart and soul into every delicious meal, and believe me -- she was an amazing cook. Seventy years of practice can do that for you, I guess. And I don't know how it happened, but suddenly my own Mom has those same kitchen super powers. She's always been an excellent cook, but it seems like especially since we lost Granny every thing she makes turns to food gold. Is it an inheritance? Is it a legacy? Is it a magic spell? Was my Grandma a good witch just like I always suspected?
I miss my Grandma. It's gotten so most days I think about her and miss her but feel like my life can go on. But sometimes it will hit me and it feels like I can't go on. But just for a minute. I feel so blessed to have had this amazing woman in my life. I feel so blessed that she was my Grandmother and also one of my very closest friends. But I miss her.
Of course, I can't rule out that all of this emotion might have something to do with the fact that I screamed like a crazy woman at my son because he wasn't walking fast enough on the way to school and then cried the whole way home because I felt that solitary feeling that can only be hormone induced. Being a girl is like... well, it's like... I just can't think of something bad enough. For my husband it would be like the Cubs making it to the world series and losing four games to three. It's like being a cow and having to eat your own cud. It can just really be stupid sometimes. It is also far superior, in my opinion, to the other option. So I guess I'll take it, spastic tears and all.