Sunrise, Cookies, and the Scent of Home
A Love Story Measured in Bites
The scent of wine cookies danced through the hallway at dawn. Fresh from the oven, they sat cooling on a rack, just out of reach. It was 6 am, and I was already in running clothes, excited to revisit my childhood neighborhood while also preparing my body for the inevitable feast. Visits home always ended with a few extra pounds.
My mother, having finished preparing breakfast, was already strategizing lunch, her hands kneading the dough for lasagna. The kitchen was compact, yet I marveled at how much she orchestrated in that tiny space.
She playfully chided me when I arrived with sneakers and shorts. A part of her seemed to consider it a waste of my precious visit. Running, in her eyes, meant neglecting the true purpose – days dedicated to indulging in her culinary creations. My weight gain was proof of her love, she believed, every meal a testament to her affection.
She urged me to sit, have an espresso, and dunk a cookie the way it should be done. All she wanted was to love her child in the only language she truly understood. The run would have to wait. There was a deeper need to fulfill, a love story to be savored, bite by bite, in the warmth of her kitchen.
oh Sam, how nostalgic you have made me with your beautiful family story with your mom. This is so authentic, it drips off of me, as well. And you reminded me how many hours we would play cards, la scopa, which means the sweeping broom, and boy were there fast hands sweeping those cards. I miss those days, How lucky are we to have experienced them? You brought me much happiness with your story today.
How beautiful, Sam. I love cooking and playing games as opportunities to bond with family. Your mom truly knew how to nurture her love for you! :)