On the last Thanksgiving morning Pam and I spoke, we were both up early prepping pieces of the evening meal and anticipating company. She mentioned she was a bit nervous about the day because she was including her ex-husband's girlfriend in the celebration. I remember her laughing and being quite gracious about the situation. I don't know that I would have been as generous. We hung up wishing each other a happy day, and I left immediately to find a poem. I called her back and read it to her and told her to think about it while she was cooking. We laughed together and then both went about our days. That poem is below.
by Mary Ann Waters
Didn't you ever wonder about her passion
for cooking? The wooden spoons, the spatula,
the whisk, the way she slides her hands
over the smooth grain of the rolling pin?
All the jellies, the oils, the fragrance,
the abundance from her warm oven?
The little bottles with their corked mouths?
Why she flexes her thighs as she stirs
knowing you're there behind her,
Read the poem in its entirety.
I'll leave you today with this parting shot.
There is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time when miserable. ― Dante AlighieriThank you for reading. I hope to see you here again tomorrow.