My best memories of my mother were all about her cooking. Whenever I came home from school, the smell of food would greet me as I burst through the kitchen door. There my Mom would be, like clockwork, standing behind the pink formica counter, steam eminating from a huge electric skillet which was her weapon of choice. In it she made her famous Chicken Livia, Veal Marsala, or one of the many wonderful dishes which she was very well known for preparing among her circle of friends. And us kids? We loved it. We loved that she made hamburgers...no STEAKburgers in the fireplace, along with the best flank steak I have ever had to this day. My brother and I would toast marshmellows over the glowing coals afterward. I don't recall any other kid's parents cooking in their fireplace. I felt special.
As I returned home from the hospital today, I felt so empty. I looked at my son, and nothing really seemed to phase him at all...it made me want to be a kid again. But maybe he just sees life as what it really is, just this amazing ride filled with beaiutiful people that come and go, leaving a trail of stars behind them. I don't know.
I am going to make a lasagna this Christmas. It was one of my mother's legacys that she handed down to me...some would even say her tour de force. Of course, I will still make it her way, but like a quilt I will alter it with my own special and unique touch that will add my name to the list of those before me, and those yet to come.
Merry Christmas, Ma. I'll be seeing you.