Gramma wouldn't even let me do the dishes after supper. I stood at the sink ready to fill it with sudsy water, but she demanded I come sit back down at the table. I complied.
Dad ended up doing the dishes.
And watching my baby all weekend long so I could coach the swimmers at the meet.
Gramma and Grampa cooked a feast for breakfast as well. I savored my grapefruit, pancakes (with apple topping AND syrup), sausage, banana, and 2% milk. I felt like royalty.
They gave us a sackful, a bulging sackful, of potatoes and onions from their glorious garden.
As if all that wasn't quite enough, what sealed the deal was the surprise bottle of raspberries I found as I was unpacking our stuff last night.
I'm spoiled. Really. I'm so blessed I feel I can't return proper or adequate thanks.
By their fruits ye shall know them.
They are so good to me. Sounds like a primary song, no?
A bottle of raspberries. A tall cool jar full of the most delicious taste; it takes me straight back to Gramma Roth's kitchen. And then to her cellar. I miss her. I wish I could still go visit her and sit on her porch, made warm by the afternoon sun. I wish I could hug her and feel her arm around my waist.
I enjoyed a treat last night. I poured a mugful of those raspberries, along with the sweet red juice, and paired it with a graham cracker. Savored every bite.
Thanks for the lovely weekend, Gramma, Grampa, and Pa. Hoping to return thanks in some way by striving to possess as much goodness as you.
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1 comment:
thanks lyn. food definitely is at the top of the skabelund love languages.
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