Wednesday, August 6, 2008


Such a little thing, but it irritated me.

I wanted to ask her why she did

it, but I knew the answer. That’s

the way my mother did it she would

say. Always the perfectly prepared

meals. She was like a chord being

plucked in the wrong decade, the

June Cleaver of the new century.

I always try to imagine my mother

as a teenager, full of hopes and

dreams, but the images never come.

Grandma’s here I shout. “Hey Grandma,

why did you cut of the end off the roast?”

“We didn’t have a pot big enough for the

whole roast,” she smiled. I hear a spoon

clatter to the floor and I see my mother’s

crestfallen face. In that instant I knew this

was one of her dreams. These beautiful meals

that she so painstakingly created. I feel

ashamed. I gather up the spoon and my

mothers hand. Thank you I say, thank

you for sharing your dream.


June said...

Very many dreams among us and we barely notice...even our own.

Cynthia said...

Loving, so sweet how the Mom is understand, how this woman's dream
is to creat the perfect meal,
hence the perfect life, soem of which she felt were missing as a