The dishes pile up. They are washed. Put away. The counters wiped down. I begin again.
Cooking fills me up, I want to take care of people and this is a way to do it. Dinners served, leftovers packed into lunches.
But it makes me very melancholy too, when I think of all the women taking care of their people, before me and after I'm gone.
I try to remember, when I feel this way, what Grandma Eva wrote on the back of her card for Herring Canape. A single instruction stands out, a bold command:
Stop a moment, still the thoughts, the worries, the sense of pressing time, and just take a mouthful, right in the immediacy of Now. Taste.