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Whentheone-yearanniversaryofmymother'spassingcamearound,Ifoundmyselfinthekitchenprepa...
When the one-year anniversary of my mother's passing came around,I found myself in the kitchen preparing some of her favorite dishes.I hadn't planned this,but there I was one hot Auguet afternoon,making her famous soup from the turkey I had roasted the day before.
As I poured myself into cooking,some of the deep sadness I was experiencing at this one-year mark moved through me.I loved my mom's turkey soup,how she cooked the egg noodles right in the broth,and how they soaked it up and tasted almost like dumplings.I remembered the time she made some especially for me.It was summer than,too,and I had a terrible head cold.She arrived unexpectedly one afternoon at my work place with a huge jar of her turkey noodles soup.I thought about the bread she used to bake and about how much butter she would slather on it,and how we loved to dip it into the broth.I began to feel a little more buoyant amidst the pain of losing her.
While the noodles boiled in the broth in my kitchen,I realized that I was reconnecting with my mother through food.I laughed a bit at myself when I reflected on all the dishes I had cooked that week.Without knowing it,I had created a beautiful ritual to honor my mother and to comfort myself at this vulnerable time.I suddenly felt my mother at hand and was filled with her presence.I was so uplifted and excited that I began talking to her,imagining she were there.
"What else should we make?" I asked of us both,wanting to keep the ritual from ending.
"Irish Potato Pancakes," was the reply.
I hesitated.The thought of these brought up another loss.The last time I made potato pancakes was two and a half years ago.I had taken off my engagement ring to make the dough,and never found it again.Since then,I resisted using that recipe even though I really liked those pancakes.It's sort of silly,but whenever I considered making them,I felt resentful of their participation in my loss,as if they were partly to blame. 展开
As I poured myself into cooking,some of the deep sadness I was experiencing at this one-year mark moved through me.I loved my mom's turkey soup,how she cooked the egg noodles right in the broth,and how they soaked it up and tasted almost like dumplings.I remembered the time she made some especially for me.It was summer than,too,and I had a terrible head cold.She arrived unexpectedly one afternoon at my work place with a huge jar of her turkey noodles soup.I thought about the bread she used to bake and about how much butter she would slather on it,and how we loved to dip it into the broth.I began to feel a little more buoyant amidst the pain of losing her.
While the noodles boiled in the broth in my kitchen,I realized that I was reconnecting with my mother through food.I laughed a bit at myself when I reflected on all the dishes I had cooked that week.Without knowing it,I had created a beautiful ritual to honor my mother and to comfort myself at this vulnerable time.I suddenly felt my mother at hand and was filled with her presence.I was so uplifted and excited that I began talking to her,imagining she were there.
"What else should we make?" I asked of us both,wanting to keep the ritual from ending.
"Irish Potato Pancakes," was the reply.
I hesitated.The thought of these brought up another loss.The last time I made potato pancakes was two and a half years ago.I had taken off my engagement ring to make the dough,and never found it again.Since then,I resisted using that recipe even though I really liked those pancakes.It's sort of silly,but whenever I considered making them,I felt resentful of their participation in my loss,as if they were partly to blame. 展开
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当我妈妈去世一周年来的时候,我发现我自己在厨房在准备着一些她最喜欢的食物。我没有计划过这些,但是那是8月份一个很炎热的下午,我正在做她出名的火鸡汤,火鸡我昨天就烤好了。当我把我的所有都集中在做饭的时候,在这一年中我经历的一些难过的事情却浮上了心头。我喜欢我妈妈的火鸡汤,她是怎么样把鸡蛋面条在汤里煮好的,她是如何让它入味的,吃起来就像吃饺子一样。我还记起来有些时候她特地为我做了一些,同样是个夏天。我得了严重的头痛。下午她在没有任何征兆的情况下,带着一大碗她的火鸡面条汤,来到了我工作的地方。我想到过去她如何烤面包,涂了多少的黄油,我们有多喜欢把面包蘸在汤里吃。我开始感觉到一丝的愉快在失去她的日子里。
当我在厨房煮我的面条汤时,我发觉我在和我的母亲交流食物。我嘲笑我自己当我反应过来我在这周都做的什么菜。 不需要知道这些,我已经建立了一个美丽的仪式向我的母亲致敬,并且安慰了我自己在这段受伤的期间。我突然感觉到我的母亲也在场,我是如此的兴奋,我开始和她交流,想象着她在那里。
还有什么我需要做的?我问着我们俩,希望将这个仪式进行到底。
当我在厨房煮我的面条汤时,我发觉我在和我的母亲交流食物。我嘲笑我自己当我反应过来我在这周都做的什么菜。 不需要知道这些,我已经建立了一个美丽的仪式向我的母亲致敬,并且安慰了我自己在这段受伤的期间。我突然感觉到我的母亲也在场,我是如此的兴奋,我开始和她交流,想象着她在那里。
还有什么我需要做的?我问着我们俩,希望将这个仪式进行到底。
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当1年我母亲去世来到附近周年之际,我发现她最喜欢的准备一些厨房dishes.I自己没有打算这样,但我是一个炎热的下午Auguet,使她从土耳其著名的汤余烤了前一天。
正如我注入了自己做饭,深悲伤,我在这一年标志着通过me.I动议遇到一些爱我的母亲的火鸡汤,她是如何炮制的高汤权利的鸡蛋面,以及他们如何湿透它并几乎像dumplings.I尝到记得当时她提出了一些特别me.It是夏天比,也和我有一个可怕的头部突然抵达cold.She一天下午,我同她的火鸡面条汤大罐的工作地点。我对她用面包烘烤和黄油多少她slather它,以及我们如何喜欢蘸broth.I它认为开始觉得有些较乐观之中失去她的痛苦。
虽然在肉汤面条煮我的厨房,我意识到,我与我的母亲通过food.I重新连接在我笑的时候我一点都熟了我知道它是week.Without菜出来,我创建了一个美丽的荣誉仪式,我的母亲,并安慰自己在这个脆弱time.I忽然觉得我的母亲的手,并与她presence.I充满如此抬升与兴奋,我开始和她说话,想象她在那里。
“,我们还有什么呢?”我问我们两人,想要阻止结束仪式
“爱尔兰土豆煎饼,”是的答复。
余hesitated.The想到这些又提出了另一loss.The我最后一次了土豆煎饼是两年半的时间状态:已采取了我的订婚戒指,使面团,并没有找到它again.Since然后,我拒绝使用这种食谱,即使我真的很喜欢那些pancakes.It氏的愚蠢的排序,但每当我考虑让他们,我觉得他们在我的损失参与的不满,因为如果他们的部分原因。
正如我注入了自己做饭,深悲伤,我在这一年标志着通过me.I动议遇到一些爱我的母亲的火鸡汤,她是如何炮制的高汤权利的鸡蛋面,以及他们如何湿透它并几乎像dumplings.I尝到记得当时她提出了一些特别me.It是夏天比,也和我有一个可怕的头部突然抵达cold.She一天下午,我同她的火鸡面条汤大罐的工作地点。我对她用面包烘烤和黄油多少她slather它,以及我们如何喜欢蘸broth.I它认为开始觉得有些较乐观之中失去她的痛苦。
虽然在肉汤面条煮我的厨房,我意识到,我与我的母亲通过food.I重新连接在我笑的时候我一点都熟了我知道它是week.Without菜出来,我创建了一个美丽的荣誉仪式,我的母亲,并安慰自己在这个脆弱time.I忽然觉得我的母亲的手,并与她presence.I充满如此抬升与兴奋,我开始和她说话,想象她在那里。
“,我们还有什么呢?”我问我们两人,想要阻止结束仪式
“爱尔兰土豆煎饼,”是的答复。
余hesitated.The想到这些又提出了另一loss.The我最后一次了土豆煎饼是两年半的时间状态:已采取了我的订婚戒指,使面团,并没有找到它again.Since然后,我拒绝使用这种食谱,即使我真的很喜欢那些pancakes.It氏的愚蠢的排序,但每当我考虑让他们,我觉得他们在我的损失参与的不满,因为如果他们的部分原因。
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